


Playing House

by ClarkeStetler, Goosenik



Series: A Blended Home [1]
Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern: Still Have Powers, Alternate Universe - Parents, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Charles Xavier Needs a Hug, Domestic Fluff, Enemies to Lovers, Erik Has Feelings, Everyone Needs A Hug, Family Feels, Family Issues, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gay Parents, Honestly Charles What Are You Thinking, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Kid Pietro Maximoff, Kid Wanda Maximoff, M/M, Marvel Cameos, Protective Erik, Protective Parents, Telepathy, X-Men Cameos, dadneto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:20:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 81,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28134573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClarkeStetler/pseuds/ClarkeStetler, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goosenik/pseuds/Goosenik
Summary: Erik Lensherr has been 'fighting for mutant rights' for the last couple years. Some might call it terrorism, but those people were narrow-minded. Unfortunately, this means that when Magda Maximoff died, no one was able to locate him to let him know that his children were without a guardian. Charles Xavier was selected as their foster parent instead, and had been doing an excellent job for the past year. Erik is back now and has no intention of being separated from his children, but working together for the kids is easier said than done.In a different situation— some anonymous bar in some overpopulated city, perhaps— Erik would absolutely have been interested. He was slender and looked about Erik’s age, but his eyes took up the majority of his face and were almost alarmingly blue. His dark curls looked like they were made for a hand to fist in. His anger was nearly palpable, sparking off him in waves that Erik could physically feel. Under any other circumstance, he’d be attracted, would have immediately started things working to get the pretty little Englishman back to his place.Not this circumstance.“You will not,” the Brit snarled at Erik, “Notbe taking custody of my children.”
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr & Charles Xavier, Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier
Series: A Blended Home [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2183025
Comments: 328
Kudos: 468





	1. Excessive Waste of Oxygen

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to our Dadneto fic! Leave any questions or comments that enter your brain, dearest readers. We love you all and hope you enjoy this!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik Lensherr meets Charles Xavier, the foster parent responsible for his twins. It goes less than well.

Erik held himself still out of sheer force of will, his hands white-knuckled on the arms of the chair he had been directed to sit in. He’d rattled various nuts and bolts loose from their respective places ten minutes ago, and the officers in the room with him were doing their utmost to act as if the fact that the metal swirling around Erik’s feet and hands in sharp clouds of movement did not unnerve them. Erik could feel the metal of their guns, warmed from body heat and frequent touches. He made them nervous.

He should.

What he _should_ do, he thought savagely, eyes locked on the office across the room, was kill everyone in here, grab the kids, and hit the road. He knew how to hide. They wouldn’t find them. Azazel would help him. He could take the kids, go deep undercover and vanish.

Logic wound its way into his thoughts and he gripped the arms of the chair, the nails and screws moving a little more quickly. He’d already given up information just to find out where his children were and to arrange this meeting in the first place. He wouldn’t be welcome back with the Brotherhood now, and life as fugitives from both the Brotherhood _and_ the Mutant Apprehension Department was hardly the best course of action for the twins. So instead, he was forced to sit, stewing in helpless rage, barely restraining himself from altering the nuts and bolts into weapons rather than benign tools.

The social worker, Moira McTaggert, glanced at him and his cloud of metal. She hadn’t said anything since she had introduced herself and asked him to wait. The ‘foster’ was meeting with an officer to explain the situation, apparently, and then they were going to let Erik see his kids. The wood of the chair arms made a small groaning sound as his grip tightened further.

“Lensherr,” Moira began, but broke off at a commotion from the office across from them. Erik looked up quickly, the cloud of metal around his feet freezing, the sharp points aiming at the door.

“What?!” A voice rose from the office, posh and British and yet surprisingly loud in its anger. “ _What?!_ No. No, absolutely not! He’s a goddamn _terrorist_ , Logan, what the _fuck_ are you thinking?!” The door swung open, a man striding out of it and focused directly on Erik.

In a different situation— some anonymous bar in some overpopulated city, perhaps— Erik would absolutely have been interested. He was slender and looked about Erik’s age, but his eyes took up the majority of his face and were almost alarmingly blue. His dark curls looked like they were made for a hand to fist in. His anger was nearly palpable, practically sparking off him in waves that Erik could physically _feel_. Under any other circumstance, he’d be attracted, would have immediately started things working to get the pretty little Englishman back to his place.

Not this circumstance.

“You will _not_ ,” the Brit snarled at Erik just as the officer-- Logan-- grabbed his arm, pulling him a step back as if he could actually touch Erik and cause _any_ kind of damage, “ _Not_ be taking custody of my children.”

“Charles,” Logan began, and the man whirled on him.

“How could you think this is a good idea?! An even remotely _acceptable_ idea?! He picked up a stadium and dropped it in the middle of a crowd of people _six months ago!_ ”

“ _Your children?!_ ” Erik surged to his feet, the pieces of metal swirling around him tearing bits and pieces of the carpet now. “Are you fucking kidding me?! They are _my_ children. You’re just a place they went, they are _my_ children, they belong with me! What the fuck you think you’re on about, saying they’re _your children_ \- get the fuck off me!” He yanked his arm out of the grip of a policeman who dared try to hold him back, the small cloud of metal spiking out as the other man’s fingers tried to close over his sleeve. He just barely kept the nails and screws from burying themselves in the policeman’s skin. “What the fuck is this asshole talking about? Give me my kids.”

“They’re _not_ your kids,” the man snarled. “You-”

“Hey. _Hey!_ ” McTaggert stepped between them sharply as Erik bared his teeth at the Brit. _Not_ his children? “Stop _right now_. If _either_ of you wants to get _anywhere_ in this case, you’re going to act like grown adults.”

“Moira,” ‘Charles’ breathed, staring at her as if she had betrayed him. “Moira, you can’t do this.”

“Charles, what matters is what’s best for them.” She focused on him and Erik felt a small stab of savage pleasure, both that she was putting him in his place and over the fact that the two were the same height. He was short _and_ stupid, then.

“Moira, you know, you _know_ that he isn’t what’s best for them, he doesn’t know the first thing about them.” Charles caught her hand and she raised her chin.

“Stop and breathe. No one is taking them out of your custody right now and just handing them over. He will have to go to anger management classes, he’ll have to continue contributing and cooperating with the agents assigned to his case, he’ll have to do visitations just like any other estranged father.” She pulled her hand free and looked between them, then pointed into Logan’s office. “Go and sit down. Both of you, _now_.”

Charles remained still for a moment, rigid and clearly furious, then turned on his heel and stalked into the office. McTaggert turned on Erik, eyes narrowing. “You too, Lensherr. In and sit down.”

He moved stiffly into the room, the phrase _estranged father_ bothering him. Everyone was acting like he had just abandoned the twins, like he had just run off on a vacation. They were acting like he didn’t want his children, like he hadn’t sent them letters and toys and presents, like he hadn’t called them on Christmas and their birthday, like he hadn’t felt sick when the line just rang and rang and rang, like he hadn’t _tried_ to be a good father, the best he could be with the situation he had been given. Sure he wasn’t a great father. He wasn’t the father they deserved, but they were still _his_ , and this British asshole couldn’t just take his kids and act like it was _normal_. It wasn’t his fault that Magda had thrown him out and refused to let him see them in person for a while. It wasn’t his fault that Magda hadn’t saved or written down his contact information, so after she died no one could find him.

McTaggert looked between them for a moment as Logan shut the door, then took a deep breath. “Erik Lensherr, this is Charles Xavier. He’s been the foster parent responsible for Wanda and Pietro for the last eighteen months. Now, the two of you are going to have to work together. You don’t have to _like_ each other, but you have to cooperate in order to provide the best experience for the twins. And you have to cooperate with us, too.”

“ _One_ of us has a history of cooperating,” Xavier (Erik firmly decided that he didn’t need a first name) said sharply, eyes narrowed as he shot a pointed look at Erik. Moira looked at the ceiling for a moment, then looked at Logan, who put another piece of gum in his mouth. Just from what Erik had seen, that was the fifth stick of Nicorette he had chewed in the last hour. He had no idea if he’d popped any more while Xavier was in the room alone with him.

Erik glared at Xavier and Logan growled at them. “Shut up, both of you,” he snapped. “I don’t give a shit about your squabbling, so shut up and listen to me. We’re not handing the kids over right now, Xavier. You have them right now, and there’s a lot of shit Lensherr has to do to even start _slightly_ getting custody. A lot could happen between now and then.” He focused on Erik with clear dislike. “And _you_ need to calm the fuck down,” he snapped. “Xavier is a good foster parent, and he _has_ been taking care of your children for a year and a handful of months. You haven’t shown up, haven’t called or gotten in contact, so it’s no one’s fault that we placed them somewhere after Ms. Maximoff died. So chill the fuck out or I will nail you to the wall.”

Erik ground his teeth. _Big talk for a man with a metal skeleton_ , he growled internally, but kept his mouth shut on that score. He was pissed, but he wasn’t _stupid_. He needed to be aware of what he said. “I want to see my kids.”

Xavier sat forward, eyes narrowing, and Moira took a deep breath. “Okay, this feels like an appropriate time for this segue. Until the custody arrangement is resolved, _however_ it is resolved… the two of you are both going to be wearing suppression collars.”

“ _What?!_ ” Xavier stood again, the word almost lost in the sound of the chair being shoved back as Erik stood, his hands shaking and the metal around them rattling violently. He couldn’t have cared less what it was doing to Logan’s skeleton. He _hoped_ it hurt.

“Fuck you and your goddamn _suppression collars_. What, are you sterilizing people now too if you think they’re dangers to society? What the fuck are you thinking, collaring us? This, see _this_ is _exactly the kind of shit_ that I was fighting against!”

“Stop,” Moira snapped again, and Xavier clenched his fists, almost vibrating with anger next to Erik. So they _could_ be on the same page about something, he noted grimly, and Moira rested her hands on her hips. “Erik, you’re still a danger and a criminal. We need to know that you won’t commit any terrorist acts or any criminal acts.”

“Which is all well and good, but _I_ \--”

“You, Charles, love those kids more than anything in the world.” Moira gave him a hard look. “We _both_ know that you’d break your moral code for them. We can’t risk you ordering Erik out, or changing peoples’ minds about any of the legal arrangements. We need to know that this case progresses without interference.”

“You’re a _telepath?_ ” The word came out like a curse and Xavier glared at him. Erik stared, uneasy about this. A _telepath_. A telepath had been taking care of his children, someone who could manipulate them and change everything about them, someone from whom they would never have privacy...

“You can’t just _mute_ us,” Xavier ground out, though his anger seemed to be draining in the face of her logic. _Traitor_ , Erik found himself thinking angrily. The man couldn’t even stay with him on this.

“It won’t entirely mute you,” Logan said, pulling out another piece of gum. “They’re not turned up to full power, they’ll just greatly muffle your gifts. They won’t turn them off.” Logan shook his head. “We can’t risk you guys killing each other or doing some shit you shouldn’t and those kids being hurt.”

“Fuck.” Erik paced off to the side in helpless anger. “I want to see my kids. I don’t want to deal with a fucking Crack or any of the rest of you.” He ground his teeth. “Muting us, taking away our powers, it’s pretty goddamn shitty of you. When and if my kids manifest, you going to do that to them too, just in case they choose a daddy and the other twin’s mad about it?”

“They’ve _already_ manifested, you absolute and excessive waste of oxygen,” Xavier snarled, fists clenching, his anger coming back in complete and full force. “Moira, he doesn’t know the _first goddamn thing--_ ”

“ _Enough!_ ” She slammed her hands on the desk as Erik stood frozen, staring at the other man. His children had manifested. His children had _manifested_ and he hadn't known. Moira kept talking, ignoring Erik’s state of complete shock. “You will _not _act like this in front of those children. Jean is going to be bringing them in any minute and they cannot see you two lunging at each others’ throats! You are going to put these collars on, _right now_ , take a deep breath, and be civil. _Is that understood?_ ”__

____

Xavier remained still for one more moment, tense and furious, then snatched a collar out of Logan’s hand and locked the black metal-and-rubber band around his throat roughly. Xavier staggered back a step almost immediately, sinking into the chair he’d abandoned in order to put his head between his knees. Erik allowed himself to fantasize for just a moment about squeezing his fist and closing the metal band inside the collar to crush the telepath’s neck, then took the other collar and slowly, burning with impotent anger, clicked it shut around his own neck.

__

The response was immediate. The rattling metal in the room stilled abruptly, mid-movement. The nuts and bolts around him clattered to the ground. The soft humming of the metal around him- Moira’s necklace, Logan’s skeleton, the chairs, the infrastructure of the building, the guns outside the room-- all fell silent. It was horrifically and intensely disturbing.

__

It felt like he had been hit, like his head had been beaten by a boulder. He felt unsteady and shaky suddenly, weak in a way that he couldn’t really describe or explain. Erik Lensherr had never hit burnout, he had never felt like this. The way he had oriented himself for his entire life, with the metals around him and the magnetic force of the ground beneath his feet, having that gone was beyond disconcerting.

__

He reached out numbly, flicking a finger, and felt a small part of him untense when Moira’s pen slid across the desk toward him. He flicked another finger, however, and the large metal chair at Logan’s desk only scooted forward an inch.

__

He couldn’t even lift a goddamn chair.

__

“Charles?” Moira crossed to the other man, resting a hand on his back, and the telepath shuddered.

__

“I’m fine. I’m fine. It’s just-- dark.” He pulled away, sitting up slowly with a pale face, and ran a hand raggedly though his hair. She looked from him to Erik and smiled slightly.

__

“Well, it seems to have calmed the two of you down a bit. That’s a plus.”

__

_What, no sweet little hand and checkup for the big scary terrorist?_ Erik thought viciously, and sat slowly, refusing to show weakness in front of these people. They didn’t deserve knowing anything about him or about his condition. “That’s because your stupid fucking collars make us sick.”

__

“I’ll take you being sick over you trying to kill each other,” she said pointedly, and Xavier gave a short, hoarse laugh.

__

“I’m sure. Look… Jean’s bringing the kids. Fine. I can’t get out of him meeting them. But it shouldn’t be in the middle of a police station, Moira. If he’s not under arrest yet- and by all means, feel free to prosecute him as quickly as possible- then they don’t need to see him in here. Take us outside instead. Plus, if Wanda… reacts badly, there’ll be less damage.” He met her eyes and she hesitated, then glanced back at Erik.

__

“Lensherr? Thoughts?”

__

“If Wanda reacts badly?” Erik searched his face, feeling a tangled mess of emotions he couldn’t couldn’t identify or recognize, flashing through him too quickly. His children were mutants. He hadn’t known if they would be- their mother had been perfectly human. Even an Alpha-level mutant was not guaranteed to father mutant children. And for them to manifest _already_ … they were so young. “Tell me what they do. I don’t want to meet them in a police station,” he agreed, sparing a glance at Moira, then focused on the other man again.

__

Xavier took a deep breath, curling his hands into fists and then releasing them. “Pietro is fast,” he said finally, a smile tugging his lips up with the words. “Too fast for his own good. You can’t keep him out of anything. So _no weapons_ at your house.” He bristled slightly, blue eyes sparking with anger and warning. “You won’t be able to stop him from anything.”

__

“He’s not technically supposed to have weapons anyway,” Moira muttered, but both men ignored her, knowing how futile that command was. After all, Erik rarely needed real weapons. Even a paperclip or tack became a deadly weapon in his hands.

__

“ _I_ won’t be able to stop him now, either,” Xavier commented, glancing up at her, pressing his lips together. “You know that, right? That muffling my ability to watch over them is dangerous?”

__

“They’re good kids, and you’ve taught them well. It’s only for a few months.” She shook her head. “We can’t risk the alternative.”

__

The Crack had been controlling his children? The little metallic toy on Logan’s desk embedded itself in the wall and Erik took a deep breath, controlling his rage. “My children shouldn’t be controlled. And Xavier, don’t think that I don’t know to keep weapons where my children cannot get them.”

__

“ _Controlled?_ ” Xavier narrowed his eyes. “Are you fucking me right now?”

__

“Enough,” Moira barked again, and glanced at her phone, cutting off Erik’s highly inappropriate response. “Jean’s getting close. Come on and we’ll go around the back, to the picnic tables.”

__

Charles stood sharply and stormed out of the room first, anger not quite as palpable as before but just as obvious. Moira massaged her forehead and exchanged a look with Logan, then gestured for Erik to follow with them as they trailed after Xavier.

__

“Pietro is gifted with speed,” she told Erik quietly, “And Wanda is…” she glanced at Logan and grimaced with a helpless sort of shrug. Erik narrowed his eyes. “Hard to identify. It’s some kind of energy or reality warping mixed with telekinesis, but honestly… it’s almost impossible to pin down what she can or can’t do.”

__

Erik ran a hand over the buzz cut he’d had done a week ago, trying to settle his shirt on his frame better. “Speed and who-the-hell-knows.” He watched Xavier storm away, anger flashing through him again. “He can’t just take my children, McTaggert. I’ve been a shitty parent, but I thought they had a great parent. I thought Magda was fine. If I’d known, I would have…” he shook his head. “I would have taken care of it.”

__

“The law is on your side, criminal or not,” she told him somewhat gently. “You already made a deal when they arrested you. As long as you keep cooperating, both with the agents and everything we require of you… they will be returned back into your custody. Charles isn’t taking anyone, and he has too much respect for the law to actually do anything once you win.”

__

They stepped out into the sunlight, Xavier already halfway to the picnic bench, and Erik snorted. “Once I win, anyway,” he said, surprised at the amusement this wakened. “So until _then_ , he’s a danger. That’s good to know.”

__

“Papa!” Two voices, so small and sweet, rooted him to the spot. He turned his head just in time to see a pale blur, and followed it to find a small body crashing into Xavier’s. The blur didn’t stop, instead swirling around him twice, to the picnic bench and back, and then once more in a loop around him before finally stopping. The boy there was small and pale, with a fluffy tuft of silvery-white hair. God, how had he gotten so big? He was at least a foot taller than when Erik had seen him last, and his grin was so much like his mother’s. The rest of his face, though, Erik was surprised to see, looked like _him_. His son looked just like him, with the same green-grey eyes, the same nose, the same jawline.

__

Erik had been shot a few times, or otherwise hurt very badly. People had quickly discovered that metallic weapons did nothing against his group, but they had found other ones quickly enough that worked fine, made of plastic and wood and rubber. He had been hurt badly enough that he had poured blood as he had fought, had had to push organs back in, had been unsure if he would see the next morning.

__

But even that didn’t hurt as badly as hearing his son call someone else _papa_. He would never have been able to tell anyone how much that hurt, never would have been able to predict how much that bothered him. Erik more stumbled than walked forward and Moira grabbed him, stopping him for a moment, leaving him to stare at the gorgeousness of his son’s power.

__

He had manifested. Erik hadn’t been there, hadn’t been able to speak to him, to talk him through it, to play-race, nothing. He had been gone chasing monsters for a year and a half and their mother had died and left them alone and Erik hadn’t been there.

__

Xavier dropped immediately to a knee, wrapping his arms around the tiny boy tightly, and he held still for a moment. Even at this small distance, Erik could see his fingers curling too-tightly into the boy’s shirt, then pulling back, smoothing it back down quickly. “Hello, Pietro,” he greeted him warmly. “Are you supposed to be running away from Jean and your sister?”

__

“You said it was fine as long as I’m in sight of both of you,” Pietro pointed out cheekily, clearly parroting something that he had heard multiple times, then poked the suppression collar around Xavier’s throat. “What’s that?”

__

“Papa, look at my new _bow!_ ” Wanda ran up from the sidewalk quickly, stumbling somewhat over the grass. She was in a pink dress, the dark curls she had inherited from her mother bouncing with each step. A large red bow had been placed in her hair, vivid against the brown color. Xavier laughed, catching her and hugging her just as tightly as he had held Pietro.

__

“It’s absolutely perfect for you,” he assured her warmly. “Heaven forbid it be blue.”

__

“Blue’s silly,” Wanda giggled, pulling back and turning so that Xavier could better examine the bow. Her eyes, soft and light like milk chocolate, inherited directly from her paternal grandmother, landed on Erik, and she froze in place, eyes widening.

__

It was oddly hard to breathe.

__

_If Wanda reacts badly._

__

Did she hate him? Did she hate him, resent him for leaving her mother? For leaving to fight for her future, for her brother’s future? Her mother had kicked him out, not understanding what he was doing, who he was doing it _for_ , and this moron watching them definitely didn’t understand either, so his children wouldn’t understand why he had left, and why it was important that he leave. Erik gave a small smile, moving forward slightly and trying to walk steadily. The collar muting him and making him sick, seeing them for the first time in a year and a half, hearing his children call another man father… it had been a hell of a day.

__

“Hey, baby,” he said a little awkwardly, crouching slowly. “I like the bow. Red is a good color on you.”

__

She faltered, searching his face, and Erik was vaguely aware of Xavier resting his hands on her shoulders, his expression tight and pained. “Daddy?” She asked uncertainly, her hand falling and catching Pietro’s. Pietro frowned a little, looking between Erik and Xavier quickly as if trying to work out what was happening.

__

“He’s back,” Xavier agreed with a small squeeze of her delicate shoulders, and Erik was temporarily stunned by the warm tone with which he said it, so drastically different from his voice when he spoke to Erik. He had to admit that Xavier had a… decent voice, even if the rest of him was irritating. Wanda glanced up at him and he offered her an encouraging smile, almost entirely masking the stress and fear in his own face. “He asked about you both as soon as he got in.”

__

Pietro studied Erik warily and Wanda searched her father’s face, reaching out to run tiny and perfect fingertips over Erik’s stubble-covered cheek. He gave her a smile, catching her hand and kissing her fingers. “Hey, baby,” he said gently, and looked at Pietro. “Hey, buddy,” he said, giving him the best smile he could and reaching out to touch his hair. “I have missed you guys so much. I’m so sorry about your mom.” His voice unsteadied and he shook his head, aware of the people around him. Logan and Moira didn’t deserve to know how scared he had been, and neither did Xavier. The twins did, but he would talk about it with them later. “If I’d known, I would have come home and gotten you. I’m so sorry.”

__

Wanda moved forward after a moment, wrapping her arms around his neck to give him a hug, and it almost felt like he’d had a second collar locked around his neck. It felt like the earth was moving beneath him, tilting as he shut his eyes, dizzy and nauseous with relief and the surrealism of actually holding her in his arms again. He opened his eyes, holding an arm out to Pietro, who didn’t move.

__

“It’s been _forever_ ,” Pietro protested tightly, taking a tiny step closer to Xavier. “You didn’t even come visit!”

__

“Pietro,” Xavier murmured, and the boy bristled.

__

“He didn’t! Wanda, why’re you hugging him?!”

__

“Daddy’s back!” She pulled away to look at him in surprise and Erik tried to smile past the new pain that felt like his son had stabbed him. Jesus, he hadn’t expected _Pietro_ to be angry. He figured it would be Wanda.

__

“Yeah, but he _left_ , and he’ll just leave again like _always!_ ” He glared at her. “Don’t be stupid!”

__

“Don’t call me stupid!” She took a step towards him, red light crackling across her hands. She raised one and Xavier caught her wrist in a careful hold, meeting her eyes firmly.

__

“ _No_. We do not use our powers on other people, Wanda, even when we’re mad.”

__

“Pietro.” Erik watched him, keeping an arm around Wanda. “Do not call your sister stupid. We don’t talk about people that way, especially your sister. You’re right. I didn’t come visit, and I’m sorry, but-” Erik hesitated. He didn’t want to badmouth Magda, regardless of the fact that it _had_ been her that had chosen this. She had made her choice. There was no taking it back now, and she was dead. “Your mom didn’t think that I would be safe if I was around you guys and she didn’t want me around a lot. That’s why I called and sent you letters and things, I wanted to make sure you knew I wanted you guys still, even though I couldn’t be there in person. I’m so-”

__

“Shut up!” Pietro barely moved, and yet suddenly Erik’s eye was stinging as if he’d been punched. Xavier stood, scooping the boy up, and carried him a few feet away, speaking quickly and firmly to him in an undertone. Wanda turned to Erik quickly, eyes widening in distress.

__

“Are you really gonna leave again?” She whispered, catching his shirt in her hands. “We can be good, I can make him be good!”

__

“You aren’t going to make him do anything, Wanda.” Erik stroked her hair back, chest aching. “I’m so sorry I left, baby. I had to. I’m so sorry, but I’m here now. I’m not leaving again. I’m going to stay here, and I’m going to be with you guys as much as I can. I love you and your brother, he’s just angry. It’s okay that he’s angry.” Erik leaned forward and kissed her hair gently. “I missed you. You’ve gotten so big and beautiful.”

__

She relaxed, brightening. “Thanks. Papa says I look like Momma. So you’re gonna come home with us and Papa? We have a _cat_ , Daddy, his name is Mr. Beans ‘cause he’s got toe-beans! And Mr. Beans is the best boy, and he’s gonna sleep on you!”

__

Erik gave a small smile, trying to think about what the hell he could even say to that. He couldn’t go home with her and Pietro, he couldn’t live with Xavier and be part of their lives like that. He had no desire to be away from them, but he couldn’t stay with them, either. Hell, he didn’t even have a place to stay, right now. He didn’t have an _apartment_. He needed to figure that out next. But he also couldn’t tell her that he _wasn’t_ going to live with them. He didn’t want her to think he was going to leave again, but he also couldn’t tell her that he _couldn’t_ live with her right now, that her foster father would never allow it.

__

He was saved from having to convey any of this by Moira, who crouched down beside them. “Hey, pretty lady.” She held out a hand and shook Wanda’s seriously, then offered her a smile. “Your daddy has to stay with us and get a new place to live and everything set up, so he won’t be with you and your Papa.”

__

She paused, searching her face slowly as some of her delight faded. “But… wait. A new place to live?”

__

“What?!” Pietro twisted around in Xavier’s arms, staring down at them, and Wanda looked between the adults with heartbreaking confusion in her small face.

__

“But… how come you aren’t gonna live with us? And Papa and Mr. Beans? If you’re not gonna come live with _us_ , then…”

__

“Wanda,” Xavier murmured quietly, expression twisting. “Sweetheart, it’s going to be okay. For now, your dad is going to visit a lot and be around all the time.”

__

“But then what?” She stared up at him, then at Moira and Erik.

__

“That’s _bullshit!_ ” Pietro erupted, and shoved out of Xavier’ arms, vanishing in a blur down the sidewalk. Xavier took a quick step forward, fingers raising to his temple, and the young red headed teenager who had brought them waved him off quickly.

__

“I’ve got him, Professor,” she assured him, and jogged quickly down the street.

__

Erik hugged Wanda tightly, resting his head on her tiny shoulder. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, closing his eyes. Because honestly, it didn’t matter. It was clear to him now, it was not something he could deny, that his children loved Charles Xavier. And that meant that if he won and took them back, they would hurt.

__

So no matter what he did, he hurt his children.

__

* * *

__

Eventually the redhead-- _Jean_ , he reminded himself-- reappeared with his son. Pietro was pink-faced and tearful, and refused to meet any of their eyes. He mumbled a goodbye to Xavier and Erik both, and then Jean took them back down the street, trying to entice them to brighten up with mentions of a visit to the park.

__

Xavier watched them go, then dropped to lay back on the grass, pressing a hand over his face. “ _Fuck_ ,” he summarized succinctly, and Moira let out a breath.

__

“Honestly, I expected that to go much worse,” she commented frankly. “Lensherr, the agents will be here in about half an hour to help you get a living arrangement settled. Charles, do you have class?”

__

“Screw class,” Xavier mumbled from beneath his hand. She frowned hard at him and he sat up, looking exhausted. “Yes, I have class.” He pushed himself to his feet and hesitated for a moment, hands curling into fists at his side, then,

__

“Tuesday, Lensherr. It’s two days away and will give them some time to adjust to the idea of you being back. Pietro especially. We have tacos or spaghetti every Tuesday and this week is tacos. Dinner is at six p.m. You’ll show up sober and without gifts. You can bring dessert if you want, but Wanda’s in this phase where she only eats red desserts, so…” he waved a hand aimlessly, as if exhausted from this conversation.

__

Erik blinked at him, irritated about the _sober_ part- he drank sometimes, but he never would around his _children_ , he wasn’t stupid- but more interested in the rest. “She only eats red desserts? And why can’t I bring them presents? I’ve been sending them shit for a year, god knows if they got _anything_. That’s a birthday, Christmas, Easter, all that shit, I missed.”

__

“Okay, they’re Jewish and don’t celebrate either Christmas or Easter,” Xavier pointed out, pinching the bridge of his nose. Erik blinked. Magda had been very lapsed in her Jewish faith and had simply followed the Christmas holidays because they were ‘easier.’ Only Erik celebrated those with them, and the idea of _this_ man lighting the menorah, singing songs and going to a synagogue was surprisingly upsetting… although he was quietly glad that they had at least some connection to their heritage. “And with Pietro as tense as he is right now, he could take it as you trying to buy him off.”

__

“He’s right,” Moira said, distracted from the quiet argument she’d been having with Logan over the cigar he was lighting. “Work up to gifts gradually once they realize you’re not going anywhere.”

__

“As for the red food, we don’t know. My sister did a whole Mutant and Proud speech for them and now all Wanda wants to wear or eat is red because it’s the color of her mutation.” Xavier shook his head and pulled his keys from the pocket. He’d taken a few steps away when he stopped and turned back, crossing the distance again quickly. Erik looked down at him, raising an eyebrow.

__

“And if you insinuate or state that I was controlling my children _one more time_ , I will knock your ass to the ground and you won’t get back up easily.” He glared up at Erik, unthreatening with his sweater and slim build, but also utterly serious. “Mind your fucking tongue.” Then he turned again, stalking off and into the parking lot.

__

“Well. That’s a little more of what I expected.” Moira sighed.

__

Erik looked after him, tired and drained enough to register that the little telepath might actually be a threat, when it came to the children. “My kids love him,” he said, feeling like he was going to collapse. “Pietro especially.” And Wanda’s face when she had realized that at some point she might not live with Xavier… Jesus. Erik rubbed his hand over his face. “Can I go to a hotel and crash? I’m jetlagged and this fucking collar is a nightmare.”

__

“Yeah.” Her expression softened a little. “Of course. I’ll let the agents know and you can meet up with them in the morning.”

__

Erik looked after the telepath and looked back where his children had disappeared. They’d had a happy little family before he had come along, he’d seen it for a moment before Wanda had noticed him there. Pietro and Wanda were happy, and now it was his responsibility to try and do what he could to make them happy again.

__

He made himself a promise to do that, to do whatever he could to make them feel happy and safe again, and then he left.

__

* * *

__

Charles Xavier.

__

Erik studied the search engine, drumming his fingers as he scrolled through the results. He’d slept and had recovered some degree of equilibrium. He was almost to functioning now, although the loss of his metal sense was still deeply disorienting. He was also back to being able to look at the situation objectively.

__

Xavier was not their father, would never be their father. He was a pit stop in their lives, and though they loved him, they would move on and move past it once Erik got them back. They were bound to be attached to the only parental figure in their lives after their mother’s death. It wasn’t their fault. It didn’t mean anything.

__

He was a threat, an obstacle, and Erik would handle him just as he’d handled everything else. His stupidly dramatic revelations last night had been nothing more than jet lag and shock of the collar’s influence. He rubbed at his temples now- he was so used to reaching out to ground himself with metal and magnetic forces, a headache was forming from being unable to do so. He could influence things a _little_ , but nowhere near where he needed them to be. In any case, his melancholy ideas from last night weren’t accurate. His children were _his_ , and no little blue-eyed English asshole could keep them from him.

__

He focused on the computer again, studying the information on the screen. Charles Xavier, thirty years old. He had two bachelor’s degrees, two master’s, and a PhD, all from Oxford and all in varying bio fields and genetics. He had lived in America for the past five years. He had attended numerous mutant rights rallies and conferences, enough that he would be considered an activist but was (and Erik could feel his lip curling in disgust) of the humans-and-mutants-can-coexist camp, which had _never_ failed to baffle him with their naive and idealistic hippie roots.

__

He scrolled down further. Xavier worked at one of the colleges here in New York, and was already up for _tenure_ at thirty, which was obnoxious. He’d never had any other foster children placed with him and had no young family members, so there was no childcare experience in his background, which irritated Erik as well. His family came from money, but Xavier lived in an average and rented home in the suburbs despite there being an _estate_ in upper New York registered to his family name.

__

He was also an Alpha-class telepath.

__

_See_ , Erik thought to himself as he considered the information on the screen. _The kids might not even like him that much, he could have manipulated them into it._

__

An Alpha-level telepath, god _damn_. No wonder Erik had never heard about it, and no wonder they had covered it up. It was no small wonder that they had collared him, too. Charles Xavier could make anyone believe or do anything, and they would never know. Erik snorted. Of _course_ the government had found a way to muffle him. They’d probably been looking for a way to do so for years.

__

Scrolling back to the background of Xavier and the rallies, Erik rolled his eyes. Of _course_ he believed that humans and mutants could coexist. They never posed a freaking threat to him because he could just mindwash them into believing that he was their best friend, all fuzzy sweaters and big eyes and pretty face and soft curls.

__

Asshole. And who was he trying to impress, with all of those academic degrees? Being a telepath, did he actually even _earn_ that shit? Erik shifted in his seat, annoyed. “I don’t know what the hell could get worse than this,” he said to himself, glaring at the photo of Charles Xavier on the screen. This asshole stole his children, probably manipulated every single thing and every single person around him to accomplish everything…

__

He was lucky, just _very slightly lucky_ that he had managed to brainwash Erik’s children into loving him. Erik wasn’t certain he could contain Pietro, and he wasn’t sure about Wanda right now either, so he needed to ensure that they trusted and liked him enough to go with him, when he called them someday. Killing Xavier and taking the kids wouldn’t work- they loved the asshole and would run, and be upset at the very least. So he would earn their trust back, earn their love back, so they would come with him willingly when he wanted to leave.

__

And then he would take care of Xavier, who had the audacity to take Erik’s children and call them _his_.

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title this week is just because that's one of my favorite insults. I hate naming things, guys. I hate it so much.


	2. Dinners and Diatribes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik comes over for Taco Tuesday, and Moira assesses how the new parenting team is doing.

Erik showed up for dinner two days later with a red-glazed strawberry cake and granted himself a moment to glower at the house. It was aggressively suburban. The man had even put up a literal white picket fence around the yard, something that none of the neighbors had, and festive fall decorations were everywhere— piles of pumpkins and a cheerful-looking scarecrow, most notably. It was like he was trying as physically hard as he could to blend in with the human stereotypes.

The curtains at the window twitched, and then the front door was opening, Wanda running outside with bare feet and a maroon sweater. She looked so much like her mother. Erik laughed a little. “Daddy! You’re here! It’s Taco Tuesday, did you know?!”

“I did know, Mr. Xavier told me.” He scooped her up quickly, before the cold could touch her feet. “I brought you a strawberry cake, because he said that you really like red desserts. You still like strawberries?” He kissed her hair, carrying her into the house.

Erik wanted to vomit almost immediately. He had never seen such cookie-cutter perfection in his entire life outside of movies. It almost looked fake, almost looked like a commercial on television for some sugary-sweet product that _brought families together_ or some bullshit line like that. Wanda anchored an arm around his neck cheerfully, and Erik thought to himself more than a little smugly that Xavier, slender as he was, probably couldn’t lift her and carry her for very long.

“I love strawberries,” she enthused as Erik’s attention was caught by a blur in the dining room that opened up onto the living room.

“Four!” Xavier was shouting with a grin, holding up a pile of plates that vanished from his hand in the next instant, the plates reappearing on the large dining room table. “Three!” He held up a plate of tortillas, taken as the blur circled the table again. “Two!” Silverware appeared at the place settings. “One and a half!” Cups manifested to the left of the plates. “One! Times up!”

Pietro skidded to a stop, hands in the air, and Xavier laughed, high-diving him. “Very impressive,” he assured the boy, who looked around. He caught sight of Erik and started to brighten, then quickly rearranged his face to a more nonchalant expression.

“Hi,” he said, clearing his throat.

Erik could have melted into the floor in relief. That tiny moment of brightness, evidence that his son glad that he was there, was better than he could have imagined. “Well,” he said, examining the table as he put the cake down, keeping Wanda on his hip. “When I was told my children were mutants, I had no idea they were so _talented.”_

Pietro beamed despite himself and Xavier laughed warmly. “We tracked it,” he said to Erik as he vanished into the kitchen and re-emerged with a glass pitcher of water in one hand, another pitcher of what looked like juice in the other. “As of now, he can run about fifty miles an hour.”

“It’s not faster than a cheetah, though,” Pietro muttered with a bit of a pout as he sat at one of the places at the table.

“You’re only six and one-quarter,” Xavier reminded him patiently, rattling off the age with the kind of practiced air that suggested they’d had this argument before. “Your gift is going to grow so much as you get older. When I was your age, I could only hear surface thoughts.”

“It’s true,” Erik agreed, settling Wanda in a chair and taking a seat himself. “I could hardly knot a piece of silverware but now I can lift a ship.”

“A ship?” Pietro’s eyes widened as Wanda made a sound of excitement, and Xavier shot him a look over their heads. He shook his head, leaning over and taking Wanda’s plate to begin arranging her taco, and Erik projected an image of a middle finger, hoping the telepath could see it.

“A ship,” he agreed, pleased at their expressions. Why _shouldn’t_ he tell them about his gifts? “Which I don’t do often, but it’s possible. Can I help you with your taco, P?” He gave him a smile and his son hesitated for a moment, then nodded and held out his plate.

“Jean brought us home from school today,” Wanda told Erik, and he mentally made a note to vett this ‘Jean’ as well as soon as he got back to the hotel. “And she said that mostly only really strong mutants manifest when they’re little!”

“Well, she would know.” Xavier’s smile was soft as he handed her back an expertly-wrapped taco.

 _Ooh so you can make fancy tacos,_ Erik thought grumpily, glancing down at his own mess of a tortilla that he was attempting to put together. It didn’t matter how it looked, it all tasted the same. Making a meal look fancy was just a waste of energy.

“She said she was six,” Pietro offered, watching Erik fill his taco intently. “But that’s not better than us, ‘cause we were _five.”_

“Firstly, no one is better than you two,” Erik informed him. “What do you want on your taco today?” Pietro pointed to the ingredients he wanted, and Erik continued. “And secondly, she's right. Most of the time, people who don’t manifest until puberty or later are weaker. People who manifest as children tend to be stronger, have better control, and can do things other people with their same power can’t.”

“That’s not always true,” Xavier said lightly, starting to make his own taco, and Erik had to resist the urge not to flip the pan into his stupid British face. Correcting him in front of his children, the man had a death wish. Literally _nothing_ about mutants was the same completely across the board. There were always exceptions. “You’d be surprised at how strong some mutants are who manifest later in life. I met a man last year who didn’t manifest until he was twenty-three.”

“What could he do?” Pietro stared at him. “That’s so _old!”_

Xavier laughed. “He,” he began, and paused for a moment for dramatic effect, then, “Could bring art to life.”

Wanda stared at him, openly disappointed. “That’s silly,” she said finally, picking up her taco and taking a bite.

“Is it?” Xavier arched an eyebrow as he folded his tortilla. “He could make that horse from your painting real. You could pet it and everything.”

The taco dropped onto her plate as she stared up at him and Erik inclined his head. “That is a unique power,” he agreed, setting Pietro’s taco in front of him. His mind momentarily whirred with uses for such a power and he shut it down. No, he wasn’t with the Brotherhood anymore. He couldn’t and shouldn’t think like that, especially with a telepath who would report his ass to their social worker. “I’ve met a speedster, but never one quite as fast as you, Pietro. That’s pretty amazing. Wanda, no one seems to know what it is you do.” He smiled at her. “So I don’t know if I’ve met anyone like you or not.”

“Papa takes me to the lab to test it,” she agreed as she picked up her taco again. “He says I’m unique.”

 _The lab?_ Erik forced himself into calm. It didn’t have to be the experience he’d had- he didn’t like the man, but he trusted- mostly- that Xavier wouldn’t hurt them. He trusted no one in reality, but Xavier’s relationship with the children did seem genuine. “I’d say so.” He ruffled Pietro’s hair gently. “I wasn’t sure that either of you would manifest, but I knew you would both be amazing if you did. I’m not surprised. Strength isn’t always inherited, but it does play a role, and your daddy’s an Alpha-class. I wouldn’t be surprised if you two get there or close.” Wanda beamed at him and there was quiet for a moment as everyone began to eat.

Dinner, truly, could have gone worse. Xavier, as insufferable as he was, knew what topics to prod the kids into talking about. Pietro spent fifteen minutes on a tirade about his dream of somehow running across the moon, while Wanda then aimed to beat his time with a speech on horses. 

Xavier himself, unless he was talking to them, didn’t offer up information or topics of conversation of his own. He also seemed to be striving to ignore Erik’s very presence at the table aside from looks of open reprimand at Erik when he got too close to speaking about mutant rights or where he had been for the last year.

After dinner, they ate dessert whilst playing an uncomfortable game of Monopoly, in which Pietro won, Wanda cheated, and Erik tried not to stab Xavier every time he made an advancement in the game or ruffled the kids’ hair. Then Xavier announced that it was time for bed for the kids. Wanda immediately turned hopeful and beseeching eyes on Xavier as she requested that Erik be able to tuck her in. Erik felt a thrill of warmth that she wanted him to do so, and then smug pleasure as Xavier smiled at her slightly, not fully hiding the sad look in his eyes.

“Of course, love. I’m sure he’d like to see your room anyway.”

“And you’re gonna read us our story?” Pietro demanded, looking between the adults suspiciously, and Xavier laughed.

“Of course, though I can’t do the pictures like normal with the collar on. It’ll still be good, though. Go on and show your dad your room and I’ll be right up.”

“Come on!” Wanda hopped down to her feet and caught Erik’s hand as Pietro sped back and forth to the kitchen, tossing dishes haphazardly into the sink before zooming around them once and then up the stairs.

The twins shared a room, which had two beds on either side. Wanda’s half was covered in horse posters, children’s dinosaur novels, and soft toys. A pink canopy hung above her bed and Wanda declared quickly that it was because she was a princess and deserved it. Erik agreed with her, unable to hide his grin, and informed her that she was _his_ princess, so it was only fair.

Pietro’s side of the room was filled with spaceships and enormous planets that hung from the ceiling. He grabbed Erik’s hand, pulling him from Wanda and taking Erik to examine Saturn, which he declared to be the best planet. Erik solemnly agreed that no other planet was its equal.

“Mr. _Beans!”_ Wanda squealed, and dove under the bed before emerging with what was, unmistakably, a calico (and thus female) long-haired cat. The cat shifted slightly in the little girl’s arms, but had a look of resignation as it hung from her arms. Wanda hefted the cat over to Erik, beaming up at him. “He’s the _best.”_

“Is he?” Erik grinned a little, scratching behind the cat’s ears. “He seems like a good cat. I always liked cats but your mom was allergic and so was my mom, your grandma.”

“That’s dumb,” Pietro said as he buried himself under a comforter that had been designed to look like some sort of shuttle pod. “Mr. Beans is the coolest.”

Wanda dropped Mr. Beans into Erik’s hands and then went to climb into her own bed, looking all too pleased with herself as she smiled at him through the canopy. Erik was about to tuck them in and kiss their heads, putting _Mr. Beans_ down, and then, of course, Xavier walked in. “Hey,” he said, crossing to Pietro first and kissing his hair. He crossed to Wanda, parting the soft netting of the canopy, and kissed her forehead next. “What story do you want today?”

“Ummm…” Wanda considered as Xavier settled on the end of her bed, again roundly ignoring Erik’s presence. “That poem book.”

“Again?” he laughed and Pietro frowned.

“I wanna read about pirates!”

Erik grinned. “Maybe we can find a poem book about pirates someday,” he offered, and felt immediate violence as Xavier’s smile became slightly smug. _No one has punched your face enough,_ Erik informed him, but that, if Xavier heard it, did not phase him in the slightest.

“Well. _I_ happen to have such a book… right here!” He pulled a thin hardback out from a hiding spot beneath Wanda’s bed and the kids gasped. Pietro was immediately out of bed and standing there to stare at the cheerful cartoon pirates.

“ _Shiver Me Timbers?”_ he read off the cover, eyes wide, and Xavier laughed.

“Indeed. Get back in bed, you’ll hardly fall asleep standing up.”

Erik helped him back into bed and kissed his forehead, brushing his hair back. “I love you,” he told him, feeling a strange kind of ache as he looked down at his son, warm and happy and safe. The panic he’d felt when he had learned Magda had died and no one knew where his children were… the memory of that was alleviated by this here now, by the warmth and safety and happiness of his children. They were well-fed, had a cat and a room that reflected their personalities and wishes, and they got bedtime stories every night. That was something to be grateful for, something to celebrate.

Pietro offered a shy sort of smile, snuggling down further into his blankets, and mumbled a nearly-inaudible _I love you too_ under the covers, which warmed Erik’s heart and helped dispel some of the unhappiness from the day before. His son had a right to be angry, but Erik was very glad that his anger had shifted slightly.

Erik crossed and kissed Wanda’s forehead, giving her a warm smile. “And I love you,” he told her, and she nearly glowed up at him, repeating the words back easily and without hesitation. He smiled. Wanda had always been the one more free with her emotions; anger and happiness and irritation and fear flaring out of her with nothing to keep it back or linger once it had gone. Pietro had always been the one to think through important things, to hold grudges, to conceal what he thought and felt until he was sure about it.

Erik settled at the foot of Pietro’s bed as Xavier had taken it upon himself to sit at the end of Wanda’s bed, and Xavier began reading the poems, doing a barely-passable pirate voice as he read.

He went through fourteen of the poems before both kids were finally at the edge of sleep. Xavier shut the book and set it on Wanda’s nightstand, looking down at her for a moment before reaching out and resting a hand on her shoulder. “How much are you loved?” he asked her quietly, and she offered him a sweet and bleary smile, hugging a stuffed bear against her chest. Mr. Beans had taken it upon himself- _herself?-_ to stretch out along Wanda’s side during the stories.

“More than the stars,” she told him sleepily. Xavier kissed her shoulder and stood, crossing to Pietro and brushing back the boy’s pale hair.

“And how much are _you_ loved?” he asked him, back firmly to Erik.

“More than the planets,” Pietro mumbled, hands loose around an alien plushie and far closer to sleep than Wanda was. Xavier kissed his shoulder as well, then straightened and finally glanced at Erik.

“Downstairs. We need to set some ground rules,” he said shortly, then turned on his heel and walked out the door.

Erik watched his children sleep for a moment, flicking off the light and burying himself in the sensation of having them there, safe and warm and happy, then closed the door gently and headed downstairs.

He crossed his arms over his chest, watching the telepath. “What kind of ground rules?” He asked in an unfriendly tone. As long as they could be civil for the kids, they didn’t have to be civil when they were alone.

“I don’t want you spewing your mania about mutant superiority to them. Not while they’re under my care and not even once they leave it.” Xavier poured himself a healthy amount of wine into a glass, paused, then grudgingly poured a second glass. “Nor are you allowed to talk about your… _occupation.”_

“It’s not mania if it’s true, and you said your sister gave them a _Mutant and Proud_ lecture. Do you know who started _Mutant and Proud?_ Us.” Erik reluctantly took the glass. He disliked taking _anything_ from Xavier, but alcohol would soothe his nerves slightly. “I wasn’t planning on telling them about the firebombs. I want to tell them about my travels, but I’ll keep the illegal shit out of it. Obviously.”

“Nothing is obvious with you except your anger issues,” Xavier informed him shortly, taking a drink of the wine. “And ‘Mutant and Proud’ is a far way away from thinking that humans deserve to be stamped out in order for the new era of evolution to begin. Raven’s never _killed anyone,_ she can say what she likes to them. And I even curbed her, thank you kindly.” He crossed the room, sitting at the dining room table.

Erik rolled his eyes, but sat at the other end. “I’m trying to build a future for my kids. Somewhere they never have to hide or fear being discovered. You say you don’t know what Wanda is, just that it’s some kind of reality warping or something. Don’t tell me that you’re stupid enough to think that some fucking human won’t think she’s dangerous and want her caged. Don’t tell me that some idiotic human won’t look at Pietro and think he’s a perfect thief, that he can’t be trusted to obey the laws, so he needs to be muted. Humans fear _everything unique._ Everything different or strong, and my children are going to be incredibly powerful. My work was to make them a world where they are safe to be themselves and never have to pretend to be something else.” Erik took a drink of wine. “So yes, I’ve killed people. To make the world better for them, and for all of us.”

Xavier pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment, then set his wine glass down. “First,” he said, voice barely containing his anger into a sense of normalcy, “That is entirely flawed reasoning. Second, don’t you ever presume to talk to me about Wanda’s gift. You don’t know the first thing about what she can do, much less the danger it puts her in. You could not possibly imagine what it feels like for her to be that powerful and that young and unknown.”

Erik narrowed his eyes. “You think she’s the first mutant who manifested young and powerful? Who didn’t know what they could do? At least Wanda knows what she _is._ I thought I was insane, a freak, cursed.” He tried to force himself into calm, but Xavier seemed to be at the other end of the spectrum.

“The most you could do was move metal,” he snapped, hands clenching into fists. “The most you could do was alter that metal. You have _no_ idea what it feels like to have _no_ limit to your power, and no idea what to expect. You can’t brace yourself or prepare for worst-case scenario because you have _no_ idea what that worst case scenario might be, what you could do or couldn’t. Yes, you could make a plane fall out of the sky or a building crash down, but at least you _knew that._ You don’t know what it’s like to be terrified of _everything_ because _anything_ could set you off and cause untold devastation.”

Erik gritted his teeth. It was true that he didn’t truly understand, couldn’t completely comprehend Wanda’s condition. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t try, and just because Xavier had a little more background didn’t mean that he was magically better. Forcing himself into a semblance of calm and trying to ignore the fork by his hand that was tying itself in knots (apparently small things like that were affected if he was angry enough and they were close enough, even _with_ the collar), he forced himself to speak calmly. “I need to know what my daughter can do. What abilities does she actually have?”

Xavier stopped and took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. “A lot,” he said finally, some of the anger gone from his voice. “I’ve been taking her once a week for more specialized testing aside from working with her at home. She is… immensely powerful. I wouldn’t be surprised if she ends up at Omega level. Her mutation may be an incredibly complex singular one, or perhaps it’s three or four smaller mutations all at once, I haven’t been able to pin it down. Telekinesis, neuroelectric interfacing, reality warping… those are the three that I’ve seen, although the neuro area is largely untapped at the moment and it’s possible that’s just an extension of the reality warping.”

“Jesus Christ.” Erik thought of the tiny girl with the cat sleeping beside her, her sweet smile and happy voice. Capable of all of that, at the age of six. _Six and one quarter, no less._ “Fuck.” He ran a hand over his head, hating the roughness of the tiny hairs. “All right. And Pietro, he’s insanely fast. His control is incredible.”

“Well, he’s able to practice.” Xavier’s smile was tight. “No one blinks twice at a fast mutant. They happen, even if his age is unusual. He can practice nearly anywhere. Wanda doesn’t have that luxury, and thus doesn’t have that control over all of her abilities.” He took another drink of his wine, glancing at Erik’s hand, then, “Wanda wants you to grow your hair back out. It was longer when she saw you last and she doesn’t like it this short.”

Erik actually laughed at the idea. “Did she tell you that or did you hear it?” The idea of Wanda sitting down and having a discussion about the length of her father’s hair was funny, honestly.

“I heard it,” Xavier admitted with a very slight smile. “I still catch fragments from time to time.”

Erik examined him, unable to keep his eyes from narrowing. _Stay out of my head,_ he broadcasted as loudly as he could, just in case Xavier was listening. Out loud, he said, “Well, I plan on growing it out anyway. I don’t like it this short either.” He took another drink of wine, debating. “Tell me about my children, then, Xavier. It’s fucking ridiculous that you have to, but… Magda didn’t want me around. Shit on me all you want, but I love those kids. Their mother didn’t want me around and she said if I didn’t back off, she would take me to court. A court wouldn't give me visitation, let’s be real, so I backed off. Never saw them unless she _wanted_ me to. Then I had to leave. I sent them letters, presents, called. Magda’s number stopped working and I thought she’d blocked me or changed her number and forgotten to tell me.” He shook his head, focusing on his glass, his chest hurting as he thought about the terror he’d felt when he had dialed and dialed and dialed and never got Magda. And when he’d called one of her friends, finally, and had learned what had happened... “I might be a shitty father right now but I never _didn’t_ care.”

Xavier was silent for a long moment, and when Erik glanced up at him, he found him staring into his own wine glass, expression shuttered and carefully clear. “I’m terribly sorry, Erik,” he said quietly, taking in a small breath. “But I’ll need you to leave now.” He raised a hand before Erik could speak. “I will tell you about them. I promise. We can meet for… coffee or something like normal people, and I’ll answer absolutely any questions you have. I swear. But I need you to leave now.” He dropped his hand, jaw clenching, then, “Please.”

So Erik had risked telling him something real, and the asshole was throwing him out. Erik stood. “Fine,” he said shortly, looking around, and pulled a piece of paper and a marker from a pile, scrawling his number on it. “You can call or text me if they need me, and they can call or text me any time they want, day or night.” He gave Xavier one last glare and stormed out of the house, toward the bus stop, fuming.

He’d never trusted telepaths, and he should have known better than to tell him anything real. How long would it take for him to turn it back on him?

* * *

The week that passed moved both quickly and agonizingly slowly. 

Erik’s time with the kids moved too fast to be physically possible, and his time waiting to see them seemed to drag on like molasses, the clock genuinely going slow enough that he checked to make sure that the batteries weren’t dead.

In between visits, the world proved to be just as irritating and infuriating as it had always been. The agents from MAD came to see him nearly once a day and at unpredictable intervals. Sometimes it seemed they just wanted to look through his things and ensure that he wasn’t ‘up to anything.’ Erik thought about acting suspicious or putting something questionable on his computer just to annoy them, but never did, because they could keep him from his children and he certainly couldn’t trust Xavier to try and uphold Erik’s right to see the twins.

The interrogations bothered him more than he would have expected. Some of the people they wanted information on, he didn’t care and freely gave out whatever they wanted. Others rankled at him. There were a few people who had been kind to him here and there, or weren’t truly members of the Brotherhood and didn’t deserve to have MAD come down on them when they weren’t directly involved, and he was as vague as he dared to be with those people. He hated the nervousness he felt, the fact that he knew if he pissed MAD off enough, he wouldn’t be able to see his children. Someone having control over his life like that rankled, and with the addition of the collar making him feel like shit and keeping him from grounding and the constant annoyance of Xavier’s presence, he was often in a foul mood.

Regardless of Xavier’s existence there, visits were better than the times inbetween. Nothing was better than watching Pietro laugh and run, or hearing Wanda giggle as she explored a book on dinosaurs or horses with him. Pietro was still stiff at times and seemed to constantly be somewhat surprised each time Erik showed up, but overall he was warming up and relaxing again, no doubt encouraged by his sister’s unreserved excitement. Erik tried to give him the space and understanding he needed. Pietro looked like him, and Pietro _was_ like him in a lot of ways; concern about giving someone trust and then suffering when that person broke the trust given was a trait Erik had held his entire life.

He accompanied the twins to playgrounds and pushed them on the swings, used his power to twirl the little merry-go-roundabout, and caught them at the bottom of the slide. He accompanied them on their efforts to take Mr. Beans on walks (Mr. Beans hated walks and just laid on the grass during every attempt) and to gather leaf piles (an impossible venture as fall had just started). They played board games and tag, and it was some of the best times he’d ever had in his life, relearning his children and watching them laugh and relax around him again.

But Xavier was _always there,_ and Erik’s fantasies of killing him or merely locking him in a closet for the duration of the visit were obviously unable to be fulfilled. Instead, he had to watch the man _watch him,_ and see him laughing with the kids, touching their shoulders, giving them hugs. The jokes, the rules he didn’t know, the references to memories that Erik didn’t share, were the absolute hardest thing to keep calm and smiling over. Hearing ‘Papa’ never failed to set him on edge and remind him that, had Erik not been gone, they wouldn’t have any other father figure. That for a while, Xavier had been enough.

Some of the anger was almost definitely displaced from his guilt over his own failure, but understanding that didn’t make the resentment less potent or make Xavier less smug when Erik had to leave at the end of every visit. He entertained himself by imagining how satisfying it would be to punch Xavier as he laid in bed each night, but it rarely was satisfying.

On Monday, a full week over their first meeting, they had their check-in with Moira.

“So how’s it going?” she sat back at her desk, looking between them with a smile. She surely didn’t miss the body language-- Xavier was in one chair, Erik in the chair beside him, but the chairs were as far from each other as physically possible, their bodies both turned slightly away from each other. Neither of them spoke, having sat in stony and tense silence in the back of the cab for the entire car ride here (why had Xavier even offered to share the cab if he was going to be an ass? Why had Erik accepted the offer if he knew he would be?) and Moira pursed her lips. “I see. Mr. Lensherr, how are you adjusting to having the kids back?”

“It’s good,” he agreed after a moment, choosing his words carefully. “Pietro’s still a little unsure, but he’s warming up to me. Wanda’s just happy. It’s good to see them and hear them laugh and be happy.”

“I asked how _you_ are adjusting,” Moira pointed out, arching an eyebrow.

God, he hated shrink-y people. Erik ran a hand over his head, glad that his hair was slowly growing back out. “I’m glad to see them. It’s good to be around them again and listen to them talk, take them out places. Watching them grow and learn and interact.”

She nodded slowly, then glanced at Xavier, who was boring a hole into the wall with his eyes. “And you, Charles? How are you handling the change?”

“I’m not unaccustomed to stress.” He turned his head to look at her, offering a short kind of smile.

“Hmm.” She examined him. “And how do you think Lensherr has been settling in?”

Erik tensed. That was a heavy question, and one he was actually very interested in hearing. _How do you think Lensherr has been fitting in?_ He hadn’t asked Xavier if the kids liked him being around, if the twins enjoyed having him there. It seemed like it, but that didn’t mean it was true, necessarily.

Xavier took a deep breath, then released it, looking up at the ceiling for a moment. “Mr. Lensherr loves the children,” he said after a moment. “And he treats them well. They’re happy to have him around and are excited when they see him.”

“But?” Moira eyed him shrewdly and he inclined his head.

“He’s still adjusting to civilian living, and they’re in a higher state of stress than they were previously because they think he’s going to vanish again soon. I’ve only caught glimmers here and there, but… they’re also worried that something will happen to one of us, since they’ve never consistently had two parents without one leaving or dying.”

Erik spun a quarter through his fingers, trying not to let that bother him too much. It was true. It wasn’t necessarily a reflection on him, but it was true that the twins hadn’t had a stable life. “Pietro especially,” he said quietly, “But I have noticed Wanda asking questions about my plans, talking about the holidays and things. Asking what I’m going to be doing then, things like that.”

She nodded slowly, considering this and them in silence for a moment. Then, “And how have the _two of you_ been doing?”

Xavier opened his mouth and closed it.

Erik frowned at her. “The two of us?”

“Yes. As co-parents.” She raised both eyebrows at him. “How do you work together?”

Xavier stayed silent, so Erik shifted slightly in his seat. “If one has to use the bathroom, one of us stays with the other, things like that. He tells me if they’re having problems.”

She glanced at Xavier for a moment, then at Erik, and then smiled slowly. “I see,” she noted, sounding altogether too pleased, and Xavier sat up abruptly, focusing on her.

“ _No._ Moira, _no.”_

“You’re co-parents,” she pointed out lightly. Erik looked between them, concern making him tense. Whatever it was, it probably wasn’t in his favor.

“We’ll _kill each other.”_

“You wouldn’t kill someone if your life depended on it,” she said dismissively, and he stared at her.

“Then he’ll kill me!” he protested, gesturing sharply to Erik.

“No, he wouldn’t get the kids then.” Her smile widened.

“What the hell is going on?” Erik eyed her smile. He didn’t think she was actively evil, but that smirk made him nervous. What the hell was she thinking, to make Xavier react that way? “What are you planning?”

“Oh, do tell him.” Xavier leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “This’ll be good, actually, I wish you’d purchased me popcorn.”

“Hush.” She waved a hand at him and focused on Erik, smiling pleasantly. “The two of you are going to go on a little retreat together.”

“A retreat?” Erik stared at her. “What the hell does that mean, a _retreat?”_

“Just because the tension and aggression here is subtext doesn’t mean it’s not present, and the kids are going to pick up on it. You need to learn to work together in a beneficial way.”

“It means she’s _abandoning us in the wilderness,”_ Xavier clarified sharply, glowering at her. “Alone.”

“The kids would like the wilderness,” Erik protested quickly. “Let’s take the kids, they would fucking _love_ to go camping or retreating or whatever you’ve got in mind. They would have a blast.” And having those barriers there, having the children as buffers, would be immensely helpful.

Moira looked at him, shaking her head meaningfully. “ _Alone,”_ she repeated meaningfully.

“I think we should take the kids,” Erik repeated in the same tone. “He’ll get eaten by a damn bear or something and with no witnesses, you won’t believe that I didn't kill him.”

“So you better keep him alive then, shouldn’t you?” Her grin widened again and Xavier groaned, rubbing his forehead.

“Moira, this is a terrible _and_ insane idea. You cannot possibly do this with all your foster parents.”

“Not all my foster parents are mutants ready to kill each other with a history of terrorism,” she reported cheerfully. “I think this is a _great_ idea.”

“I think it’s a _terrible_ idea,” Erik protested, but knew that it was useless. Her mind had been made up. This was happening. He rubbed his forehead. “How long? How long are we stuck out there for?”

“Just two days. One night.” She nearly sparkled, altogether pleased with her machinations. “You can leave tomorrow morning, and I’ll have Logan pick you back up on Wednesday morning. I’ll talk to Jean about watching the kids overnight.” She rubbed her hands together. “Excellent. Will you need camping gear?”

“Absolutely. Do I look like I have camping gear?” Xavier stared at her.

Erik eyed him, an idea occurring to him. “Have you even _been_ camping?”

“Who would have taken me camping?” Xavier looked at him, exasperated. “And why would I want to? Laying in the dirt with bugs and no bathroom or hot water sounds like the most terrible idea I’ve ever heard. No tea or coffee, no books, no air conditioning… There’s a reason we evolved from the Middle Ages.”

“This is going to be so wonderful.” Moira hid her grin behind her mug.

Erik stared at her, then pressed a hand to his eyes, taking in a deep, measuring breath. This was going to be _terrible._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unnecessary fun fact #1: Goosenik is a social worker. Yes, custody arrangements and interacting with fosters and bioparents are VERY different than how Moira is approaching it. But, as she said, one of them is a billionaire telepath and the other is an Alpha-class metallokinetic terrorist under MAD's watch. So... you know. Situations are different. Just a note that I'm aware this isn't realistic and also I don't care. XD
> 
> Fun Fact #2: Yeah, the chapter title is a play off of Hozier's "Dinners and Diatribes" song. I've been listening to it and watching the video on repeat. It's so good, I can't even take it, and the title fits the contents of the chapter.
> 
> Love you all, let me know what you think or any feedback/questions!


	3. That... Was The Worst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The camping trip arrives, and Erik gets a visit from an old friend.

“This is bollocks,” Xavier fumed quietly when he got into the car. Erik had chosen the front passenger’s seat and Logan was driving, leaving him to be stuck in the backseat. “Absolute bollocks. Why would anyone want to go camping? Logan, do you understand that this is likely to end in both of us dying?”

“You’ll be fine,” Logan grunted. “There’s no metal out there, and there’s no animals that will hurt you. You’ve got food. It’ll be all right and it might be good for you. When was the last time you got back to nature?” His lips twitched slightly.

“My version of getting back to nature involves arboretums,” Xavier replied grimly, and Erik couldn’t help himself and a laugh broke from him. This just annoyed the telepath further. “What, Lensherr? Were you the kid who went every weekend or something?”

“I was,” he agreed easily, more amused than angry at the moment. Xavier was so grumpy and reluctant, it was actually kind of _funny._ He had seen Xavier filled with rage or sadness, but not this grumpy anger, and it was bizarre, how it made Erik smile. “My mother and I went all the time, and I have been forced to sleep in less than ideal conditions many times during my career.”

Xavier shook his head, grimace deepening, and was silent as they progressed out of the city and into the country. After an hour or two, Logan pulled over and popped the trunk. Xavier stared at the ceiling for a moment, then nodded and climbed out of the car, walking around to pull a backpack from the trunk. Erik did the same as Logan laughed.

“I’ll be back for you tomorrow morning. Have fun.” He pulled away from the road, tires screeching, and Xavier watched him go for a long moment.

“He only did that to spite us,” he noted, then turned and began trudging up the path into the woods. Erik snorted and followed.

“I hope to god they gave us two tents, but knowing them, they’d think it was funny to make us sleep crushed up together,” he said, mood souring as he considered that. He didn’t like sleeping near anyone else. He’d been attacked too often during sleep for him to be comfortable sleeping next to another person. “Assholes. It won’t be too long though- just until tomorrow morning. I don’t know what they think we will achieve in one day.”

Xavier sighed heavily. “She thinks it will humanize us to each other.” He looked around, frowning around at the trees. “I always liked the woods,” he said after a moment of reluctance. “Short-term visits to the woods, but still.” His shoulders relaxed very slightly as he paused to watch a bird flit from one branch to the next.

“Of course they were short-term,” Erik muttered scathingly. Xavier raised an eyebrow at him in Erik’s periphery and he snorted. “Come on. One look at you and you can tell that you’ve never gone camping in your life. You’re the epitome of city kid.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Xavier scoffed. “Come on. How often in my life am I going to _need_ to survive in the wilderness? I have money, for one, and the ability to contact other minds, for another. I don’t require survival training, nor do I require camping skills. I own a house.”

“Oh my god, you’re insufferable.” Erik pressed a hand against his forehead, fantasizing again about how tragic it would be if Xavier didn’t _die_ out here, but maybe somehow got separated from Erik. Just stranded for a few days while Moira and Logan went out and found him. Erik could watch the kids, have a few days peace from the irritating Brit… it would be good.

“I heard that,” Xavier muttered under his breath, and Erik cut his eyes toward them.

“Stay the fuck out of my head.”

“Stop thinking things loudly, then!” Xavier snapped, breaking a stick as he stomped past Erik to head further up the path. “It’s not like we all try, you know. Everyone thinks they’re special and unique, that every telepath is just _crawling_ to get in there and steal their secrets, but nine times out of ten, you have the same petty woes and worries and secrets as everyone else. Look, I don’t want to hear your thoughts anymore than you want me to hear them. Just-- lower the goddamn volume, you got it? Firm up your shields.”

Erik did so with the practice he’d gathered from years of working with Emma, fuming silently as he followed Xavier. The telepath almost certainly didn’t know where he was leading them and was going to get them lost, so he pushed past him, taking the lead instead and heading down the trail sharply. They walked in silence for a long few minutes before Erik glanced back at him to check and see if, by some miracle, Xavier had fallen down a hill or something.

He hadn’t, unfortunately, but he was rubbing at his arms as if cold. Erik stuck his hands in his jacket. “You know it’s going to be twenty degrees tonight? I hope you packed long johns.”

 _“Long johns.”_ Xavier echoed, brow furrowing slowly. “What… I don’t even… what is a _long_ john?”

Erik stared at him, blown away by the PhD’s sudden display of stupidity. “What the hell do you mean, _what is a long john?_ Aren’t you a genius? You didn’t Google a packing list for late-year camping?”

“I’m a genius with _genetics and biochemistry,_ not _lumberjacking.”_ Xavier stopped to stare up at him, large eyes greatly annoyed and a bit bewildered. “They said they were packing us gear! What the hell is a long john?”

Erik had never noticed that Xavier’s eyes were so perfectly clear, so perfectly blue. They were like a glacial lake, gorgeous color that captured light. He pulled himself away from that ridiculous observation, glad that Xavier couldn’t hear his thoughts. Just because the other man had pretty eyes didn’t mean a goddamn thing. “Underclothing. Thermal underwear.”

“Hm.” The professor considered this with a frown, tilting his head a little as his teeth worried his lower lip. “Why would you call it a _long john?_ It sounds… fairly sexual, honestly.” He turned and continued hiking up the path. “Like a prostitute,” he added over his shoulder.

Erik stared after him, then jogged to catch up. “ _I_ didn’t name it,” he informed him. “And trust me, when you’re in long johns, _no one_ wants to have sex with you. It’s about the least attractive piece of clothing you can wear. But it keeps you from getting hypothermia.”

“It’s a shame our mutations don’t just do that,” Xavier said thoughtfully, studying the trees as they walked past. “What does one even _do_ whilst camping?” He asked, irritated. “Just get eaten alive by bugs?”

Erik rolled his eyes. “It’s late fall, Xavier, it’s not like the woods are teeming with bugs. As for activities, I always hiked, swam, looked for animals. Sometimes I read, or climbed trees.”

Xavier snorted. “Oh, yes, because none of that could be done without being stranded in the wilderness for over twenty-four hours.” He was quiet for a moment, then he added more softly, “If the kids were here? What would you do with them?”

Erik considered, looking around. “I guess… I’d chase Pietro, have him run on the creek to see if he can run on water. Not this time of year though, it would be cold. I’d show Wanda how to move some of the rocks and logs, how to check for snakes. I’d teach them how to climb trees and find bird nests. Kids like looking at bird nests. I’d take them up the mountains and show them the views up there.” He shrugged. “Camping shit.”

“Camping shit,” the other man echoed with a sardonic sort of chuckle. “Did you ever take them when they were smaller?”

Erik shook his head. “Magda didn’t let me take them anywhere alone, and she hated camping. She never told me why she always wanted to be there, but I always thought it was because she was afraid I’d leave with them, or she was worried I’d radicalize them. She insisted on coming with us.” He shrugged a little. “Which was… fine. Annoying, but fine. I never really blamed her for it. She was a good mother. When she was a bitch, it was always because she was worried about their safety and happiness. She was never shitty just to be shitty or to hurt me.” Erik watched a squirrel run across the path ahead. “I think she deeply regretted having kids with me. She would have been happier with almost anyone else- she hated my beliefs and job more than you do, if you can believe that. She adored the kids, but wished they were someone else’s.”

That still hurt. The realization he had come to, that the mother of his children deeply regretted having children with him, that she would have been more than happy if he wasn’t in their lives, it still hurt like an old wound that ached on rainy days. Erik and Magda hadn’t been good together, but they’d been good coparents. He had never led the twins into danger. He’d loved them with everything he had while he was there, he’d been careful not to talk about things that he was doing with the Brotherhood. And yet she’d wished above all else that he wasn’t part of their lives or their DNA.

“I don’t _hate_ your beliefs,” Xavier dismissed almost immediately, pulling Erik out of his painful reverie. “I just think they’re extreme, radicalized, and dangerous. I believe in peaceful resolutions, and your ideologies are in direct contrast to them. That doesn’t mean I don’t understand where those beliefs come from, nor do I think they’re entirely unfounded.”

Unsure what to say to that, Erik grunted, then caught his arm as his eyes caught on color in the brush. “Look,” he said, pointing as an animal moved to cross the path ahead of them. “Fox.”

Xavier stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the red furred creature, and mouthed silently for a moment, not moving an inch or speaking as if scared to frighten it off.

Erik bit back a laugh. “They’re pretty common up here in the mountains,” he murmured, “But most people have never seen one.” It sniffed the air in their direction, brushy tail twitching slightly, then padded across the path and sauntered into the undergrowth, unconcerned about the mutants standing only twenty feet from it.

“You ever seen a kit?” Erik asked, and Xavier blinked at him. “A baby fox,” he clarified. “Let’s pray Wanda never sees one- she wouldn’t stop until she had one.”

“I’ve never even seen a fox in real life.” He stared after it, taking a small step closer in an attempt to peer through the bush and see it again. “She’s _beautiful,”_ he breathed in awe, catching Erik’s arm in return. Erik startled a little and Xavier seemed to realize what he was doing. He released him quickly as the fox moved fully out of view. Xavier beamed up at him, childishly delighted. “I didn’t realize they were so _big.”_

He couldn’t help it- Erik smiled back. He still didn’t _like_ him, and probably never _would_ like the infuriating British bastard, but there was something endearing about him. There was something adorable about the way he almost glowed when he was excited about something. Erik had never known a telepath to be so outwardly emotional, and he hadn’t really seen much emotions from Xavier other than anger directed at him and affection directed at the children until now.

“They’re gorgeous,” Erik agreed. “They make weird noises, though. When you sleep tonight, if you hear creepy noises it’s probably the fox. Most things are either bigger or smaller than you imagine- almost no animals are the size you think they are when you see them. Deer are smaller than you think.”

“Oh, I know that.” He brightened further as he continued walking. “My family’s estate is in the countryside, and sometimes deer would wander into the yard. They’re absolutely marvelous creatures, I always loved them. Do you have a favorite animal?”

A favorite animal? Erik coughed to bite back a laugh. What kind of question was that, even? Was it some bizarre attempt at small-talk? But he found himself considering nonetheless, as the question was innocent enough and didn’t make Erik want to strangle the professor with his bare hands. “Can we name mythical creatures?”

“Would your favorite animal _be_ a mythical creature?” He looked up at him, eyebrows raising.

“I was just asking.” Erik shrugged a little, realizing that was bizarre, to immediately gravitate toward mythical animals. “I guess… I like jaguars. Most big cats.”

“And if you had a favorite mythical creature?” Xavier’s smile was very close to teasing.

 _Hippogriff._ Erik looked away, embarrassed, and felt his face heat slightly. He didn’t really remember the last time he had been teased and he was trying to ignore to impulse to laugh. “I don’t know. There are a lot of interesting ones. I guess hippogriffs are kind of cool. You know, those things with horse asses and eagle heads? And giant wings.”

Xavier’s smile was wide and bright, but had no hint of mockery into it. “Hippogriffs are very cool,” he agreed mildly, and continued trekking up the path cheerfully. Erik followed, somewhat stunned by the beauty of the first real smile he’d seen on the other man's face.

* * *

The camping trip was… difficult and humorous in different ends. Xavier was absolutely useless. When he tried to start a fire, he stacked the wood wrong and the kindling that he had gathered was too green to catch. His attempts at pitching the tent were shockingly bad, and he felt the need to insist once again that he had never studied physics or camping, merely chemistry, biology, and genetics. It felt good to be superior to him, considering Xavier had spent the last week knowing more about the ins and outs of his children’s lives than Erik did.

He was, however, able to classify different mushroom and fungi species as poisonous or nonpoisonous (this wasn’t exactly helpful, but at least he knew something about the outdoors) and he chopped the vegetables in their packs up into a mix that he placed in their tinfoil and put in the fire. “It was in some show Pietro likes to watch,” he said by way of explanation, watching the tinfoil with a frown. Erik had to pull it out and repackage it to cook properly.

Erik was shocked, honestly, at how easy it was to take charge and fix things, listening to Xavier chatter. They were both taking serious pains to make this trip as easy as possible- he noticed that both of them paused and redirected conversation whenever it got close to a place where they could fight. They did indeed have only one tent, so what was the point in fighting? Moira had created this stupid experiment, and they needed to figure out a way to make it work or she would make them do something worse.

The result of those efforts to be on their best behavior, then, was that they were able to actually _have_ a conversation.

“I think,” Xavier said, pushing the vegetable mix around the tinfoil with a fork, “I believe that I owe you an apology.” He hesitated, sitting back on the log and considering his words. “I am… struggling.” He was clearly uncomfortable with the words. “With the loss of the twins. And it’s far easier for me if I focus on you as a complete deadbeat who should just rot in prison for his crimes. Which, to be fair, are many and varied.” He flicked an eyebrow, but kept his eyes on the food. “However, you do love them. I have enough of my mutation left to be able to tell that you are sincere about your desire to take care of them, regardless of, as I’ve said, how misguided some of your efforts or views may be.”

Erik watched him carefully. “I love them,” he agreed quietly. “I shattered the train I was on when the woman picked up and told me that Magda was dead and they weren’t sure who had Wanda and Pietro. I get it, all right? I get you’re pissed. I am too. It’s a shitty situation. And if they didn’t like you-” _Love you._ “-you wouldn’t be around to have this conversation. But they do, so I’m playing nice.”

Xavier rolled his eyes. “Yes, threats on my life will certainly help smooth this process over.” He reached into his bag, pulled something small out of a pocket, and rolled it between his hands. He looked up at the darkened sky above them, and took in a small breath, then, “Either way. I’m sorry for my brusqueness or hostility, in the past and forthcoming. Normally I would be able to use my mutation to help… to help cope, but I’m obviously not in a position to do so at the moment. So I’m sure that the next few months will not be easy to work with me through.”

Erik watched him, thinking. He hadn’t really thought about it, but if _he_ had raised the kids for a year and a half on his own, started an adoption process, and then a _terrorist_ appeared to take them away… yes, he could see why Xavier was having problems, why he was upset. Erik couldn’t blame him for that. Wanda and Pietro were easy to love.

Xavier didn’t give him much more time than that, instead changing the subject somewhat, away from himself and to the kids. “So. What questions do you have about the twins?”

And this time, Xavier answered all of them. He told Erik about how they had manifested upon hearing news of their mother’s death, how Pietro had run all the way to Pennsylvania before passing out and how Wanda had exploded every piece of glass in the house. Charles Xavier had been chosen as a foster, he explained, because of his knowledge and experience with mutations as well as the fact that the officers and social workers had felt that his telepathy would give him the best chance at understanding their triggers. He had been their foster for the full year and a half since Magda’s death.

He explained about their grades in school (Pietro did terribly because he was too focused on his friends, while Wanda got excellent grades in the classes she deemed interesting), their propensity to fight (they were in constant arguments), and their respective favorites (Pietro liked silver, space, and swimming while Wanda liked red, horses, and skating).

He described hiring Jean, who he had been mentoring for four years prior to taking in the kids, and freely gave him an elaborate story on how she had won the suspicious children over by making all of their toys float around their room for hours. He even mentioned Mr. Beans, who Wanda had named and who _was,_ in fact, a female. He often looked tense or unhappy throughout the conversation, but answered Erik’s questions without pause, even as his hand white-knuckled around the toy he’d been fiddling with throughout the hour.

Erik memorized the information, hungry for anything he could get of his kids. He had lost so much time, he had lost so many experiences with his children, he wanted to know everything he physically could, so he wouldn’t say something and have the twins think that he didn’t like them or know them. He knew some of this, from observing them and playing with them for the last week, but most of it he didn’t, and it was wonderful to have all the information at his fingertips.

“So what about fears?” Erik watched him. “When Pietro was little, he was terrified of spiders. Wanda was never afraid of anything, except being away from Pietro.” He snorted. “When they were tiny, she’d cry if they weren’t in the same crib.”

Xavier opened his mouth to answer, but was distracted by a low hooting. His face filled with delight and he abandoned the remnants of his food. “Is it an owl?”

“What else hoots, Professor?” Erik snorted, but there was no heat in the words. His enthusiasm was difficult to do anything but assist. “Yes, it’s an owl. Sounds like it’s close, too. You might be able to see it.”

“Frogs make hooting sounds sometimes,” Xavier said, somewhat defensively. He searched the treeline for the owl, humming quietly under his breath in thought. “Wanda’s pretty fearless, although she definitely has separation anxiety. If she’s not with one of us, she gets nervous. Pietro still hates spiders.”

“There.” Erik pointed at a dark shape in a tree, the eyes reflecting slightly back in the fire. “That makes sense. She never liked being alone or without Pietro. It makes sense it would get worse and continue after her mother died.” Erik watched the fire. “How did Magda die? I didn’t ask, I just cared about the kids. I should have asked.” They had told him, of course, at some point, but he hadn’t been paying attention, really. He’d been paying more attention to where his children were to care about someone who had already gone, right then.

“Car accident,” Xavier said simply, letting out a small breath. “Some idiot going too fast who didn’t see a red light. She was crossing the street to get groceries.”

So if Erik hadn’t left, he could have stopped it. He nodded slightly. “I’m glad the kids weren’t there. That would have been horrific for them. I hope she went fast. Magda wasn’t a bitch, I just wasn’t really safe for them.”

Xavier’s head turned to him and he hesitated for a moment, then, “It wasn’t your fault, Erik. I’m sorry, I know you want me to leave your thoughts alone. Sometimes I can’t help it. But… sometimes accidents happen. You can’t be responsible for being there twenty-four seven. If you had been with them, she probably would have left you to watch the kids in the apartment and it still would have happened.”

“Or we would have all gone.” Horror flashed through Erik at the idea. Distracted by one twin, the other back with his or her mother… no, he could see it very clearly, the horror that could have awaited him in that scenario. He took a deep breath. “I wish we hadn’t been separated, obviously. But at the same time… I was very angry with Magda for a while, after she threw me out. I don’t know how effective I would have been to help the kids through their grief. I’m glad they had someone. They’re happy. They have a cat, and a nice bedroom. That’s a lot to ask for. It’s what I wanted them to have-- a secure home, a safe home, where they knew they were loved. So thank you.”

“Ugh, don’t thank me.” Xavier grimaced. “I didn’t do it for you, and I definitely hoped that you would never show back up.” He laughed at the honesty and Erik joined him. “When you take them,” and here his voice was slightly unsteady, “Take the cat with you. Wanda would be devastated to lose it.”

Erik sobered and nodded, adjusting a log. “Mr. Beans. Why the hell did you let them name her _Mister?”_

“It was Wanda’s idea.” He held a hand up, shaking his head grimly. “I explained that it was a female cat, and she said that she can still be a ‘mister.’ I don’t know, she’s six.” He shrugged. “Her mom had just died, I let her name the cat whatever she wanted. So Mr. Beans it is.” He chuckled and stood, stretching. “God, they’re such arseholes for giving us only one tent. I should have guessed. Moira was altogether too pleased with herself.”

“Yeah, I’m not surprised in the slightest,” Erik agreed grimly as Xavier unrolled his sleeping bag and kicked it haphazardly into the tent. “At least we have our own sleeping bags, or I would have to kill her and that probably wouldn’t endear me to MAD at all. I’d rather not go back to jail.”

“Did they put you in jail at first?” Xavier glanced at him as he climbed into the tent. “I’d assumed not, since you weren’t collared when we met.”

“I’ve not been collared before, but I had something similar.” Erik shrugged, glancing back at him. “I was nineteen and a lot angrier than I am now. They got lucky and knocked me out, then drugged me while I was out. The Brotherhood got me out two days later, but I didn’t enjoy my stay.” He stretched. “I’m going to stay up for a bit. I’ll be in.”

“All right.” The professor offered a small smile. “Be safe. I have literally no idea what threats there are in the woods.” Then he withdrew, burrowing into his bag and falling silent.

Erik smiled a little, considering. _Be safe._ Xavier had admitted that he’d hoped Erik wouldn’t appear again, which was fair… but apparently, somehow, that had shifted at this point… or, somehow, he was a good enough person to want Erik to be safe now regardless of the fact that he wanted to take the twins back.

It kept Erik up for a while, thinking about that.

* * *

The next morning, Erik woke to find curls in his field of vision. He blinked, but they didn’t go away, and when he raised his head, he realized that Xavier had moved his bag right up next to Erik’s in the night, no doubt in an attempt to escape the cold. They weren’t cuddling, per se- they were still in their own sleeping bags- but it was close.

He looked down at Xavier’s sleeping face and tilted his head, watching him for a moment. The telepath was always so active, laughing or yelling or lecturing, and it was so strange to see him completely relaxed now, his mad hair all over the place, a small smile on his lips. Erik settled into the bag more comfortably, realizing how weird it would be if Xavier woke up and saw him staring, but was unable to _stop_ looking at him for a moment.

He really was attractive. This close, Erik could see all the freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks, the delicate lines of his eyebrows and jaw. His expression was softened in sleep, and it was absolutely impossible to deny that Charles Xavier was gorgeous. For such a powerful mutant, it was bizarre that he looked so breakable. The pale color of his skin (did he never spend time in the sun?) didn’t help, nor did the soft bluish tinge under his eyes that made the skin there look even more thin than it was. His lips were oddly and vividly red in contrast to his pale skin and freckles, since the bright cerulean of his eyes weren’t there to balance them out.

Not, of course, that Erik actually cared how Xavier looked. At least the person he had to be around constantly was easy on the eyes, he told himself.

Xavier ducked his head as Erik watched, making a small and troubled sound as he shifted slightly closer to Erik, then quieted again. Erik pondered idly if he should wake him up or let him sleep, but ultimately Xavier woke up before he had to make a decision. He woke badly, trying to reach out and finding himself trapped by the sleeping bag, and let out a small yelp of panic as his eyes flew open.

He found Erik’s face in seconds and stilled, then dropped back to the ground with a groan. “ _Jesus Christ,”_ he moaned. “We’ve just... slept on rocks... for the entire night. Howda people do this for _fun?”_ Even as he spoke, he was struggling to unzip his sleeping bag, freeing his limbs again. He sat up quickly, swaying slightly with the motion, then blinked down at Erik slowly, peering at him in confusion as he processed Erik’s proximity to him.

“How’dyougetoverhere?” He asked clumsily, words slurring together slightly as he rubbed his eyes and yawned widely.

Erik had to stop laughing before he could answer. The powerful, rage-filled, charismatic man he knew was reduced to this because of sleeping in a tent. “Are you _always_ this bad when you wake up?” He chuckled. “It’s like I’m watching a baby deer stand up for the first time.”

“Baby deers stand up right away,” Xavier mumbled, dragging a hand down his face slowly and looking balefully at the top of the tent, which was covered in small droplets of dew. He reached out, poking it with a cautious finger. “It’s like _hell,”_ he evaluated after a moment, blinking so slowly it looked like he might be falling asleep sitting up.

Erik kept laughing, pressing a hand to his ribs. “You’re going to kill me,” he managed. “It’s just _camping._ You’re so sad.”

“We slept on rocks in straightsjackets and it got _cold_ and there’s water _everywhere_ and everything’s _damp_ and we ate dinner out of _tinfoil,_ it’s like _hell,”_ Xavier echoed profoundly, looking around them with revulsion.

Erik wiped at his eyes, not remembering the last time he’d laughed like that. It felt good to laugh. “I could make you tea,” he said, chuckles erupting here and there. “We can cook it in one of the vegetable cans from last night and strain the leaves with a clean sock.”

Xavier stared at him in open revulsion, lip curling in horror. “ _No,”_ he said, slowly and firmly. “ _No,_ we can _not.”_

“But you _like_ tea.” Erik grinned up at him, unable to keep the laughter from his voice. “Wouldn’t that help you feel more awake?”

“I’m in hell, and you’re Satan,” he processed in horror, watching Erik’s laughter.

“I could cook you eggs,” Erik wheedled. “We have to reuse the tinfoil we used last night but that just adds flavor.”

“Why would they only pack us one piece of tinfoil?” Xavier asked it faintly, as if it were just another blow being piled onto him. He pressed a hand over his mouth, continuing to evaluate his surroundings in a state of appalled shock as he progressed into a state of full awareness. “Oh, _god,_ and then we have to _pack it all up._ Why is this a hobby?!” He half-shouted it at the roof of the tent, as if expecting God to answer. “ _We evolved past this as cavemen!_ We have standing settlements! Ovens! Fridges with leftovers! Takeout menus and beds and showers and _toilets!”_

“Leftovers is what you’re going with!” Erik laughed again uncontrollably, falling back to his sleeping bag and pressed his hands over his eyes. “Oh my god, you posh bastard. _Takeout menus.”_ He hooted in laughter, shaking his head.

“Takeout menus are what separate us from the beasts,” Xavier said savagely, pointing a vicious finger at him. “The ability to summon strangers bearing food from a distance in the comfort of your own home is nothing short of _magic_ and I will not tolerate you scoffing at that.”

Erik laughed helplessly, shaking his head, and when he’d gotten control of himself, sat up again. “You are ridiculous,” he informed him. “And I’m sorry, you’re right. Takeout is godly.” _You are so goddamn cute._ He grinned at him and stood, surprised by the thought, but it was very true. He _was_ cute, all sleepy, rumpled, wobbly and grumpy. Erik didn’t have to like him to acknowledge that. “Now, help me pack up everything. We have to go back down and wait for Logan. _If_ he shows up.”

“He will show up,” Xavier insisted fervently. “Or the second I get my collar off, I’ll- I’ll- well, I’ll…” he pressed his lips together into a scowl. “I’ll make him believe he’s allergic to nicotine,” he decided finally, and clambered out of the tent with the decision. He stumbled twice on his way out, uncoordinated and clumsy, and cast a weary look at the scene around them before beginning to roll his sleeping bag back up.

Erik grinned to himself, shaking his head. He was used to Xavier. He was used to anger and tension. He was used to Xavier being unhappy, to an extent. He wasn’t used to this disheveled and grumpy man who was so at odds with the woods around him. It was hilarious, and Erik hadn’t laughed like that for a long time.

“You’re terrible,” Xavier muttered finally, more awake now and in better spirits as they waited for Logan’s Jeep to appear. “I’ve no idea how you enjoyed that.”

Erik chuckled, chewing on some beef jerky that he’d packed, a food that Xavier had refused to eat as ‘you can’t prove it’s actually meat.’ “It’s not that bad. We needed some sleeping pads, for sure, and maybe a heater. At least we had good bags.”

Xavier made a scoffing sound and was silent for a moment. When Erik glanced over at him, he found that Xavier was balancing a red, empty bird shell in his palm. A four-leaf clover lay on his skin beside it.

“Where did you get the shell?” Erik leaned over, examining it. “And the four-leaf clover, where the hell did you find that?” He looked around, curious if there was even clover nearby.

“There was a patch up by where we pitched the camp. I sat there and looked through them forever until I found one. You were off being impressive with the tent.” He waved a hand aimlessly. “The egg, I found while we were walking. Thought Wanda would like the color. I didn’t know what to get Pietro, so…” he poked the clover again.

Erik smiled a little. “Yeah, I think they’ll like that. A four-leaf clover is insanely difficult to find, he’ll be excited, and the shell is red, so that’s enough for Wanda, even if it wasn’t the shell of a bird.”

Xavier paused and stared at it for a moment, then looked up at Erik slowly. “I don’t like the insinuation that it might not be from a bird.”

Logan’s Jeep lumbered up to the side of the road and Erik raised an eyebrow. “I meant she’d like a shell no matter what. And there you go, Xavier. Your escape.”

“Oh, thank god.” He shook his head firmly and tossed his backpack into the trunk, then climbed into the back. “Proper tea and bedrest, here I come.”

Erik laughed, climbing into the front, and Logan eyed them, taking a long drag on a cigarette. “Well, you’re both alive,” he said thoughtfully. “So there’s that. I guess I owe McTaggert money.”

“You’re an officer of the law,” Xavier informed him dryly. “You shouldn’t be betting on murder.”

“I didn’t say what I owed her money for,” Logan drawled. “Could be pizza. Kids are all right, by the way. We called them this morning and they’re fine.” Xavier nodded and didn’t say any more, and Erik settled back into the seat, relaxing into the warmth of the heater.

The kids were thrilled when they came back, almost vibrating with excitement at the gifts that Xavier brought them, Wanda levitating the shell and Pietro running around with a happy yell, the clover cupped in his hands. Erik offered to take them camping sometime with their foster father and they screamed in excitement, Xavier staring at him in horror and betrayal.

Erik laughed all the way home, feeling surprisingly… light.

* * *

Erik was alone in his hotel room a couple days later when the Brotherhood finally caught up with him.

There was a crack and then a voice spoke his last name. Erik barely restrained himself from jumping. He’d gotten very used to Azazel’s appearances over the six years they had worked together, but he’d been nearly constantly-expecting him to show up, then. Now, broken from the Brotherhood and in his shithole hotel room, he had been completely caught unawares.

It also didn’t bode well. If the Brotherhood was angry at him turning traitor, and Erik was still wearing this damned collar… he was good in hand-to-hand, he could hold his own for a while. He could cause some damage, even _with_ the collar…

But he didn’t want to hurt Azazel, the man who had been the first person he’d called when Magda had told him she was pregnant, who had been the only friend who had been there at their birth. Probably his only real friend at all.

He turned slowly to face the red-skinned mutant and Azazel took him in, eyes dropping almost immediately to the collar. “ _Der'mo,”_ he growled, taking a step forward as his tail lashed against the ground. “Makes sense now. Fucking humans. Come on. Shaw will be able to get that off. Why didn’t you call us immediately? Do you know the kind of _yerunda_ we’ve been hearing? That you’re a _predatel'.”_ He reached for Erik’s shoulder.

Erik shook his head. “I can’t go,” he said, stepping back. “Az, Magda? She’s _dead._ The kids are in some foster home. They’ve got my kids.”

Azazel stared at him for a moment, then shook his head. “So we go in, kill them, take the kids back. We can handle this.”

For a moment, it was tempting. No courts, no chance he could lose them. Azazel could have the kids and they could be in Cuba or Germany in minutes. All his, all happy.

And then he thought of their bedroom, filled with their favorite things and their cat, and the way they had eagerly chattered to him about everything they were learning in school. Fugitives couldn’t attend school, couldn’t live with the freedom they did at present. Having them be near the Brotherhood, that life of blood and chaos and constant planning for the next strike… It wasn’t safe.

And then, a small part of him thought, _Xavier,_ pictured him crumpled on the ground and bleeding the way all of Az’s victims did. He wasn’t even fully aware that he was shaking his head until Azazel took a step closer. “Don’t do this,” the teleporter murmured. “You’re not our enemy, Lensherr. They’ve _already_ collared you, muted you, you can’t just bow down to that. Don’t make this choice.”

He took a deep breath. “It’s not… it’s not about me, Azazel. It’s about the kids. Wanda’s got a cat, Pietro’s got a bedroom with giant planets hanging from the ceiling, and he’s _happy._ They’re so happy.” He slowly sat on the bed. “They’re so happy and free. They love their school, they love their house. They love the bastard who’s keeping them.” That one hurt the most. “If I took them away, they would hurt, they’d be upset. They wouldn’t understand.” _And I don’t want them near Shaw._ He took a deep breath and looked up at Azazel. “I can’t. The rumors are true. I _am_ a traitor. I had no choice- it was that or not see my children, and I need them. If that means I’m your enemy, I’m sorry, but my kids come first. This fucking collar, this shitty room, siding with the _humans_ for god’s sake, it’s all for them. That’s all that matters. They would hate me if I took them away, so I have to do this the right way.” He gritted his teeth. “So if your orders are to take me out if the rumors are true, you can fucking try, but I’m going to fight it. If you win, just leave me somewhere people can find me, so my children don’t think I’ve just left them again.”

Azazel stared down at him, expression unreadable, then shook his head slowly. “I’ll give you as much time as I can before I report back,” he said shortly, arms crossing slowly. “And then you’ll need to be ready to fight.”

He vanished in his usual sulfurous cloud in the next moment, not sticking around long enough to hear Erik’s answer, and Erik nodded, looking at the floor beneath his feet as he thought this through. Shaw wouldn’t let him go. Azazel wouldn’t be able to keep out of it, meaning that he needed to be prepared for an attack at any moment.

He would be attacked by all kinds of people. It was unlikely, given the reality of the situation, that Erik would be able to win. With this damned collar and knowing that the likelihood of them attacking him when he was distracted or with the children, it was unlikely that he could win easily, or at all. He would fight, he would fight like hell to stay, but he needed to find a way to make sure that his children knew that if he disappeared again, it wasn’t their fault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Unnecessary Fun Fact Time: In college, Clarke and I met up with a couple of our friends and planned a camping trip. One of the others was a city boy who'd never been camping. We filled his head with whimsy and promises of amazing photography opportunities (which we did deliver on). When we woke up the next morning and started breakfast, our 6'2 friend crawled out of the sleeping bag on his hands and knees, stared at us in complete betrayal, and said with a voice of gravel, "That... was the _worst."_ We never let him live it down, and the memory was so strong while writing this.
> 
> Also, the strength of Charles' feelings toward camping may also be somewhat autobiographical. I really hate bugs and tents, y'all. I also just went on the above trip for the photo ops.


	4. The Crime of Mr. Beans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik visits Charles at work, and Charles calls Erik in the middle of the night to help take care of an emergency situation.

New York University was as overpopulated and pretentious as Erik might have guessed. He was annoyed to be on campus, had only grudgingly come because Xavier had texted him in the morning and arranged to meet him after one of his lectures. He had never liked the strange predatory nature of academics, people who were so concerned with the letters after your name that they couldn’t give less of a shit what else you might know.

_You can watch Wanda’s testing,_ he’d offered, and at that point, it hadn’t really been a choice. Of _course_ Erik wanted to watch her testing. He wanted to see what she could do, get a handle on her abilities.

So now Erik was wading through crowds of undergraduates, trying very hard not to lose patience with their volume or proximity as they bumped past him without any regard for his personal space.

His mood lightened somewhat at the sight of a purple-skinned girl with red eyes who was laughing brightly as a boy juggled spheres of water for her. The campus was relatively mutant-friendly, then, as the couple weren’t getting any odd looks. That was… good. That was surprisingly nice to know. He knew that technically it was against the rules in most civilized places for the school to allow bullying or mistreatment for mutants, but that didn’t mean that those events weren’t overlooked when they happened.

He glanced at the lecture hall number again and ducked inside. He was there early, and as such, Xavier was standing at the bottom of the room, fully absorbed in his presentation. It was odd to see him in a setting that had little to do with Erik, and as such he was more relaxed, smiling slightly at his students as he crossed from the podium to stand before them. He was standing there, eyes bright and expression engaged, and there was that little pull of interest, of attraction. 

You didn’t have to _like_ someone to want them, and Erik couldn’t deny that Charles Xavier was someone he could and did very easily want. It wasn’t _his_ fault that this light made his eyes look bluer than the goddamn ocean. It wasn’t _his_ fault that Xavier’s curls were just the right length to run your fingers through, to wrap around your fingers and pull close.

Jesus Christ. Erik shook himself and focused on the lecture, fighting the insane attraction that was absolutely ridiculous and _not_ necessary in the slightest.

“The cause of the X-gene to appear is unknown,” Xavier was saying, gesturing to a large genetic code projected behind him. “It can be spurred on from contact with radiation, from experimentation with different chemicals, from heredity, _or,_ as in many cases, it can appear completely new in bloodlines that have been healthy and baseline human for generations. The reasons for it appearing in the child’s code are completely unknown at this time and are being greatly studied. Yes. Scott.” He nodded to a boy in the front with red glasses, and Erik noted with a snort that he was sitting beside Jean, the kids’ frequent babysitter. So he was farming childcare from his students? That was smart. She was probably just trying to get extra credit and gave him a huge discount.

“Is it true that they’re starting to test at birth for the X gene?” Scott’s voice was concerned and Xavier inclined his head.

“They’re giving the option,” he allowed. “It’s up to the parents if they want to test and see if the child carries it. It is not, as of yet, something that can be fully identified while the child is in utero.”

“But if it becomes that way…” A pale girl with dark hair exchanged a look of alarm with her friend.

_Good._ Erik leaned back against the wall. At least these children understood the danger of such a thing. When he had heard that testing for the X-gene was possible at birth or even earlier, Erik had felt a thrill of fear for the future that had rocked him to his core. That was only one step away from aborting any child who wasn’t what you, as a parent, wanted. And that was terrible. To end a perfectly healthy child not because you didn’t want it, but because you didn’t want to raise a mutant, a mutant who could someday save the world… no. If Erik could destroy the testing machines, all the results, he would. He would have stopped the creation of such a test, if he had known about it in advance.

“It would be illegal to abort after such a test finds such a result,” Xavier said firmly, and Erik snorted. Of _course_ it would be illegal. But that wasn’t the reason that the mother would put on her forms. It wasn’t the reason the doctor would log in the chart. The woman had just changed her mind out of the blue, it wasn’t that it was a _mutant._ It was just that she suddenly wasn’t ready to be a parent. “It would be seen as a form of eugenics, which is, of course, illegal here in America.” His eyes caught on Erik, then on the clock at the wall, and he offered his students a smile. “It’s about time to head out. Thank you for your attention. Don’t forget that your essays are due at midnight on Friday. I won’t be accepting late work because you all know better. Next class will be over the ethics of telepathy! Now off with you.” He turned to collect his papers and the students hesitated for a moment.

“Professor,” a boy with faintly-green skin said, glancing at his peers. They nodded at him quickly and Xavier smiled slightly. “Around your neck, is that…?”

“Yes,” Xavier agreed solemnly. “As you all predicted, my fashion sense _is,_ indeed, a danger to humanity and I have been arrested for my criminal habit of wearing sweaters and vests even in summer.” Laughter broke up the tension of the students as Xavier grinned at them and Erik raised an eyebrow. He wasn’t going to _tell_ them? They deserved to know. “It’s nothing to worry about, I assure you. Go enjoy your day.”

Mollified by this, the students began filing out. A boy with blue hair lingered, as did Jean and Scott, who were deep in conversation in the front row. “Professor,” Blue-Hair began uncertainly. “I know that you don’t accept late work, but I was wondering…”

“Ah. Yes, absolutely.” Xavier’s face twitched with amusement, blue eyes sparkling as he glanced at him. “The rallies are important, and the one at the end of the month coincides with our test…” He considered this for a moment, then, “You can have a two-day extension on taking the test _if_ you write a secondary report on the cultural dynamics and contradictions that you saw there. Bring powdered milk and water bottles, have bandages in your bag just in case. The report will need to be sixteen hundred words and turned in concurrently with your essay. Tell your peers they have the same offer.”

Blue-Hair grinned. “You’re the best. Bandages and milk, you’ve got it.” He shot toward the door and Xavier frowned after him.

“Powdered!” he called as the kid shot past Erik and out the door. Erik watched him go, wondering idly if the rallies would knock some sense into him or not, and he’d realize exactly _why_ the precious humans had collared his professor. Control, that is all it was about. Control and power.

Jean and Scott were next in line as Erik started down the ramp, towards the podium. Scott murmured a quick _I’ve gotta get to class,_ kissed the redhead, and passed Erik with a curious glance. Erik was used to those- there _had_ been footage of him with the Brotherhood here and there, and it wasn’t uncommon for mutants in particular to try to pinpoint where they knew him from. But Scott didn’t stop, instead following Blue-Hair out, and Erik was left at the dais with Jean and Xavier.

“Hi!” Jean greeted him with a warm smile, holding out a hand. “My name’s Jean Grey, I watch Wanda and Pietro a lot.”

“She’s fantastic,” Xavier said without looking up, piling his papers into a neat stack.

“Hello, Jean.” Erik inclined his head, keeping his hands in his pockets. Her hand dropped. “I don’t do skin. It’s nothing to do with you. My children like you- Wanda talked incessantly about the photos of the horses you brought her.”

“I think every little girl has a horse phase at one point or another.” She smiled, anchoring her hand on her bag’s strap instead. “I don’t blame you- I’m sure you’ve had your share of tactile mutants.” She glanced at Xavier, who chuckled softly and inclined his head. She focused back on Erik. “I just wanted to introduce myself. I’m headed off to pick Wanda up from school now. We should be back in an hour- the professor said you guys are going to talk in the meantime.” She hesitated, fingers tightening around her purse strap. “Professor, about next class…”

“It’s important to talk openly about it, Jean.” His voice was gentle as he glanced at her. “Ignorance is the basis for all fear. You don’t have to admit that you have dual mutations if you’re not comfortable with it, but skipping class would not be wise. It may even help you.”

“You have a dual mutation?” Erik eyed the redhead in interest. Dual mutations- or in his daughter’s case, quadruple mutations- were incredibly rare. Mutation at _all_ was rare, but any more than one was very difficult to find. “He’s right, you know. Hiding what you are is a terrible idea. Nature made us perfect- don’t let anyone change your mind about that.”

She glanced at him and gave a tiny nod, rolling her shoulders back. “I guess.”

“Jean. You are brilliant and beautiful.” Xavier leveled her with a firm look. “I will not tolerate you saying otherwise. Being a telepath means that you will face constant suspicion. But that just means that you have to prove who you are, take away the mystery and simply be you. People will come around.” He piled his papers into his bag and hoisted it onto his shoulder, and Jean smiled.

“All right, sure. I’m off to get Wanda. You want us to meet you in your office?”

“Please.” He held still, allowing her to leave the lecture hall first, then finally focused on Erik. “Hello. Apologies for the wait. Would you like to go somewhere more comfortable?”

“Sure.” Erik shrugged a little. “So you really do teach. Weird.” He looked up at all the seats, imagining being responsible for that many people’s knowledge, and snorted. “I’d hate that. You’re honestly going to do a class about telepathy ethics when your students all know you’re a telepath? Isn’t that inviting problems?”

“Quite the contrary,” he disagreed as he led him out and down the hallway. “Most prejudices are born entirely out of ignorance. By being straightforward and addressing their concerns and questions, I can clear up any misunderstandings and ensure that they know, moving forward, what to expect from any psionic that they meet.”

Erik hmphed and followed him along, looking around. “A lot of mutants here. I wasn’t expecting that.”

“NYU is the biggest college in the city, which is one of the biggest cities in the country.” Xavier shrugged. “We’re fairly progressive, as things go. Not _all_ humans are out to mute and tag every mutant they encounter, you know.” He arched an eyebrow at him as they climbed a staircase. “Some of them just want to live their lives just like we do.”

“As soon as I landed, I was arrested, carted to a police station, interrogated, and muted.” Erik snapped it, irritated, as always, at the idea that the humans were little fluffy scared bunnies who only hurt mutants when they were scared. “Since I was young, I have received much the same treatment whenever anyone realized that I wasn’t human. It’s very nice that you have had a different reaction, but that is not everyone’s experience.”

“First off,” Xavier said, maddeningly calm rather than rising to Erik’s bait, “You were arrested, interrogated, and _muffled_ because you’re a known extremist who has _killed people._ You weren’t exactly minding your own business. Secondly, I’ll thank you not to assume that you know anything about me or how my mutant experience has influenced my life. The most you could possibly know about me comes from a list of facts compiled for you by someone else.”

Erik took in a deep breath and let it out. He almost preferred Xavier’s anger to this maddening calm. “I didn’t kill anyone when I landed,” he informed him, but conceded the point. “And in any case, it wasn’t like that was when it started. You think I just woke up one day and decided I hated humans? They hated me, for years, before it came to violence. But that’s not the point, we’re not here to talk about that.” He forcefully steered himself away from this topic. Xavier didn’t want to know anything about his life, and Erik didn’t want to share it. “What about the kids. How are they doing with it? Are people accepting?”

“Of Pietro, very. It’s a recognizable mutation and people know what to expect. They’re slightly more nervous about Wanda.” He stopped at a door, _Charles Xavier_ engraved in a little plaque on it, and pulled out his keys. Erik unlocked the lock with a twitch of his fingers before he could put the key in, just to annoy him, but a smile tugged slightly on Xavier’s lips instead. He opened the door to allow Erik entry and Erik stopped in the doorway, staring in shock.

It was chaos. Papers everywhere, books everywhere. The house was always so _neat,_ so aggressively welcoming and tidy, and yet this was pure, unfiltered madness. Books and papers lay in stacks over every surface, the bookcase overflowing aggressively with spines shoved in this way and that. Teacups were stacked almost to the ceiling in precarious formations behind the large mahogany desk. There was a large whiteboard against the far wall, and even _it_ was insanity, crammed with notations and equations across every inch of available space.

Xavier didn’t seem to see anything wrong with any of this and ignored Erik’s appalled expression, instead walking past him to sit behind the desk. He sat back in the chair and gestured to the chair opposite the desk, not seeming to care that there was a twelve-book stack in it. Erik closed his mouth, not having noticed that it had fallen open.

“What the fuck is this? If the kids show up the books will fall on them and you’ll have to cut through _The Once and Future King_ to get them back!” Erik stared around. “Do I need to hire you a maid?”

Xavier laughed, the sound without a hint of bitterness or mockery to it. Erik turned his stare to Xavier. He wasn’t sure he’d seen him truly laugh without any stress or unhappiness there, and it made him almost painfully aware how gorgeous Xavier was. “No,” he informed Erik with a grin. “I do not require a maid. Not everyone is militaristic in their tidiness, you know.”

“I guess.” Erik cleared off a chair and sat, disgruntled. “But this is insanity. I don’t have a clue how you could ever find anything even _vaguely_ resembling order here.”

“Says the man who spent the last six years trying to topple human governments into anarchy,” Xavier scoffed. He hesitated a moment, then picked up the small picture frames off his desk, opening them and pulling the photos out carefully.

“Here,” he said, stacking them and reaching across the desk to place them in front of Erik. “I doubt you’ve anything recent.”

Erik took the photos and looked down at them, giving his children’s happy, smiling faces a small smile. “Pietro, he takes after me and my family. Hopefully he takes more after my mother in the end. But Wanda… she looks just like her mom.” He shook his head a little and focused back on Xavier, debating as his fingers curled around the photos. “I got a visit last night,” he said after a moment, knowing they had to have those conversations at some point. “From an associate.”

Something flickered in those impossibly-sapphire eyes and Xavier inclined his head slowly. “And?” He asked, fiddling with a paper on his desk. 

“And I need you to understand that if there is a time when I don’t show up for something or you can’t find me, I need you to explain to Wanda and Pietro that their father wouldn’t have willingly left them again.” Erik looked at the board behind Xavier, feeling tense and angry and unhappy. “Also, if I ever tell you that you need to run, I need you to take the kids and move your ass. I’ll do what I can, but collared like this and the people they’ll send, I can’t guarantee shit.”

“Have you already told the MAD agents?” Xavier’s fingers raised, tracing slowly over the collar at his throat.

Erik snorted. He thought that Erik would trust them with _any_ information in the slightest? As if they would care, anyway. “No. I’m not going to, either. They’ll just start freaking out and it’s not going to do anything useful. I’m telling you because you’ve got my kids, and you’re the one who will have to break it to them if something goes south.”

“Mm.” Xavier considered this for a long moment, then nodded and turned to pour a cup of hot water into a mug. “I don’t think that will end up being a problem. MAD seems to think they’re quite close to bringing them in.” He glanced back at Erik. “Tea?”

“Tea would be fine.” Erik preferred coffee, but as long as the tea was strong, it was fine. “Forgive me if I don’t have a lot of faith in MAD. I don’t intend to be taken in easily, but it is important that you know.”

“MAD is stronger than you think,” he noted lightly. “Especially when you’re working with them. Will it be hard for you to see them jailed?” He began mixing the tea and set a mug in front of Erik. “I personally would struggle greatly with the concept, even if it’s the right thing to do. Which it is, just so you’re aware.”

“It depends on the person.” Erik shrugged a little. “There are some that I didn’t care about one way or the other, some I actively dislike. There are some I am friendly with, and I don’t like talking about them. I try to be roundabout with those ones, as much as I can, but I can’t be unhelpful or I’m out of the deal.”

Xavier inclined his head took a drink of his tea. “So. I told you about the past eighteen months of the twins’ lives. Tell me about the first four and a half years.”

Erik took a deep breath, adjusting to the change of subject with relief, and thought for a moment, then started talking. He told Xavier about how Magda had called him, said “I’m pregnant,” and hung up. How she hadn’t been sure right away if she wanted to keep them, but how she had grown into an incredibly capable mother who was basically a single parent the majority of the time, since Erik was often gone fighting. How much she had loved the twins, doing anything and everything for them.

He told Xavier about the birth, about how Wanda had been born first, screaming her lungs out, and how Pietro had been quiet enough that Erik had been frightened for a moment, until the doctor had assured him that both babies were safe. Erik found himself talking about how terrifying it was to have two infants to check on, how he hadn’t been able to sleep for fear that he’d wake up and find one of them not breathing. It was apparently a common fear, but it had made him feel no less idiotic then or now.

Erik told Xavier about the way the twins had grown, strong and gorgeous, how they had started babbling to each other quickly, nonsense that only they understood. How Pietro had walked first and Wanda had spoken real words first. About how, the first time Pietro had seen a spider and started screaming, Erik had broken their table in two. About how, when they were almost two years old, Magda and Erik had tried to give them separate beds and Wanda had wailed for hours until they’d put her back with Pietro. How they had, even up to now, preferred to sleep in the same room.

Erik explained how they’d found a private school that was far outside his and Magda’s budgets, but he had gotten the money from Shaw, and that was why they were able to read and write so well. Charles had explained that Magda’s life insurance had gone into a trust to fund the twins’ education, and Erik was pleased about that. He talked about the first sleepovers the kids had with a friend, about how they had begged for a pet but Magda had been so allergic she couldn’t say yes. How he had taken them to the park, and playgrounds.

He found himself talking about how Magda’s tolerance for him lowered more and more almost by the day, how she’d become more and more protective as the reality of exactly what Erik did for a living became clearer and clearer, Erik’s boss and sometimes Erik himself had been in the newspapers for doing terrible things. He explained how he had been kicked out, about how badly that had hurt, and how the kids hadn’t understood. 

He was about to start on the things he had done as he’d tried to build bridges, but stopped at a quick knock at the door. It opened, Wanda rushing into the room ahead of Jean. “Papa! Daddy!” She bounced in place eagerly, her bow nearly vibrating with her excitement. “Hi! I got out of school early cause we’re gonna test!”

“We are,” Erik agreed warmly, reaching out to straighten her bow. “I’ve never really seen you use your power, I’m very excited.”

She bounced proudly and Xavier stood. “Jean, you’re good to go, love. Thank you so much for bringing her down.”

“I- yeah.” She stared at him for a moment, eyes widening slightly, then cleared her throat. “Yeah, of course. You’ll call me if you need me?”

“Absolutely.” He pulled his bag up onto his shoulder and Wanda turned. 

“Bye, Jean!”

“Bye, sweetheart.” Jean crouched to give her a hug, then smiled at Erik. “It was nice to meet you,” she offered as she straightened, giving a small wave. Her eyes landed on Xavier again, brow furrowing slightly, and then she vanished down the hall.

“What are we practicing today?” Wanda asked eagerly, looking between Erik and Xavier.

“I don’t know.” Erik glanced at Xavier. “Is she just playing, or is there a reason?” What was his issue? Why had Jean been so weird?

“We play at home,” Xavier said, fixing his collar before turning and leading them out the door. “These sessions are in a specialized room, where damage can’t be done. It’s just her messing around oftentimes, pushing to see what she can or can’t do. We’re working with your telekinesis today,” he told Wanda with a warm smile, bopping her on the nose. She reached up, catching his hand in one of hers and catching Erik’s in the other. Xavier paused for a moment, meeting Erik’s eyes and clearly looking just as uncertain about what to do with this as he was.

Wanda either didn’t notice their discomfort or ignored it, instead swinging their arms as they walked down the hall. “Okay,” she said happily, lifting her legs to dangle from their arms. Erik took a deep breath and swung her a little, creating a rhythm with Xavier to bounce her slightly and make her giggle.

He didn’t have to _like_ him, but it made Wanda laugh, and that was worth whatever it took. “Okay,” he echoed. “Telekinesis. My girl has telekinesis. Who would have thought? I thought one of you would be an elemental like me, honestly.” He smiled down at her.

“Really?” She looked up at him in surprise. “Are you sad we’re not?”

Erik snorted. “Why would I want you to just be able to move rocks or something when you guys can super speed and move _anything_ with your mind and all the other things you can do? No, baby. I’m very happy with you as you are.”

She brightened again, playing with their arms, not noticing the steady way Xavier looked up at the ceiling. Wanda half-led them, walking between them until they reached the basement of the building. She finally released them then and knocked quickly on the door.

“Hank!” She called eagerly. “Hank, we’re here for testing!”

The door opened to a tall, lanky sort of man with eyes that _were_ blue, but somehow entirely different than the striking, surreally blue color of Xavier’s eyes. He corrected his glasses and smiled down at Wanda. “Hello!” He greeted her. “I’ve got all kinds of things for you to move around today, you’re going to love it.” He straightened and smiled at Xavier. “Charles.”

“Hey.” Xavier, much as he had been during teaching, looked more relaxed than Erik had yet seen him. “How’ve things been? Sorry I haven’t had the chance to come down this week.”

“Please, you’re a dad.” ‘Hank’ rolled his eyes. “You’ve got bigger concerns than research. I do need to show you the developments I’ve made though- Hello.” He startled slightly, finally noticing Erik, and faltered. “I’m sorry, are you…?”

“Yep.” Xavier said grimly, and pushed past with Wanda to go into the room. Hank surveyed Erik with open alarm.

“Ok _ay..._ Do you want to explain to me why we have a-” he paused, glancing at Wanda, then, “-why we have _Magneto_ here?”

“Because I want to watch my daughter use her gifts and wreck your shit.” Erik looked back at him calmly. “Is there a problem?”

Hank stared at him for a moment, then turned sharply to look at Xavier. “ _Charles,_ I know that you tend-”

“Not another word, Hank,” Xavier interrupted hastily. “Bloody hell, man, have some discretion. Erik Lensherr happens to be Wanda and Pietro’s father. He’s back in the picture and is here to watch her. End of discussion.”

Hank eyed Erik as one might a wild lion, but said nothing more, instead clearing his throat. Erik frowned deeply at both of them. “I- right. There’s a lot to unpack there, but… right. Wanda, I think you’ll like what I’ve set up today.” Hank crossed the room and pulled back a curtain, revealing hundreds of wooden wind chimes hanging from the ceiling. He smiled at Wanda, who stared up at the chimes, enamored.

“You,” Hank told her cheerfully, “Are going to only hit the _blue_ ones today. We’re just working on precision.”

“Okay.” She rolled back her shoulders, assuming an expression of seriousness, and raised her hands, small fingers wiggling slightly. Swirling, nearly sentient red light swirled and crackled between her fingers, and Erik looked around to see it shimmering over the chimes as well, clumsily clinking the blue ones against the red ones.

Erik moved forward, examining it in fascination. “Look at _that,”_ he murmured in awe as Hank took copious notes. “Baby girl, can you move my fingers?” He reached out a hand for her. “What does it feel like? Does it sting?”

“No.” She giggled at the idea. “It feels warm and crackly, though.” She hesitated, releasing the chimes and shifting uncertainly on her feet. She glanced at Xavier. “I’m not supposed to use it on people, Papa said.”

Erik smiled at her a little, crouching in front of her. “No, you probably shouldn’t, he’s right. I just got excited. Keep working on the blue ones, _Kleine,_ you’re doing a very good job.” He kissed her temple and then straightened, moving back a little to give her space.

She obeyed, happily focusing on the chimes again. After her hour of practice, the action was much more graceful, less of the chimes moving that weren’t blue. Erik felt an unbelievable amount of pride and affection for the tiny girl in front of him. She was so powerful, so absolutely focused on her job, even for a _six year old,_ and it was incredible.

He had never known exactly how much he had lost, by losing time with his children.

* * *

_“What are you-“ Erik stared at Magda, who shoved the duffel bag into his arms._

_“I don’t want any part of this bullshit. I’m_ human, _Erik. Did you forget that? That your agenda against the ‘evil’ baselines includes the fucking mother of your children? And possibly your children themselves?!”_

_“I’m fighting for our rights,” Erik said angrily, running a hand through his hair. “There is going to be a genocide if things don’t change, Magda.”_

_“Yeah. A genocide of people like me from people like you.” She glared up at him, brown eyes furious. “I don’t want to see you around here anymore. You take one step through this door and I’ll call the police and tell them everything they need to know about you. You will never see those kids again, and it’s entirely your own fault.”_

_Erik stared at her, feeling like she had punched him in the face. She didn’t want him around, was saying that he couldn’t see his own children. How the hell was that even possible? She couldn’t, she_ couldn’t _just take his children away, she had to-_

The ringing of a phone woke him, shattering his dream to pieces, and Erik experienced a moment of surrealism, irritation, and relief. He raised his head, peering at the alarm clock, and wanted to break the phone as he saw that it was _three in the goddamn morning._ He mumbled choice words in German as he blinked, trying to focus enough to see his surroundings properly. Normally he could wake up immediately, with no problems in the slightest, but this collar screwed everything up.

He rolled onto his side, picking up his phone, and accepted the call. _“What?”_ He snarled, then pulled back to glance at the caller ID. Fear buried its claws in his chest and he sat up quickly. “Xavier, it’s three in the morni-”

“Tell me that you know how to sew,” he demanded without preamble.

“What?” Erik blinked. “Are the kids okay?”

“For _now,_ yes, but the goddamn bear is half destroyed and Wanda will tear the house down when she sees it, and I’m just making it worse.” His voice was terse. “Hank’s across town, Raven’s abroad, and I can’t leave them to go hunt a seamstress down. Now, can you sew or not?”

Erik pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m going to kill you. Yes I know how to sew, kind of. I know enough to fix buttons, maybe tack down a rip or something, is that good enough?” he got up, pulling on pants. “What the hell happened to it?”

“The _twat_ of a cat decided to use it as a scratching post.” He was tense. “Thank you, that’s probably fine. Her mother gave her this bear, and she will not handle it well at all if she wakes up and his stuffing is still spilling everywhere like intestines.”

Twat of a cat. Erik felt a small grin spill across his face and locked his door, jogging down the stairs. “I’ll be there shortly, just try to hold down the fort.” He hung up and started running. The busses weren’t going at this time of night, and he couldn’t wait for a cab or Uber, not with the chance of Wanda waking up and crying about her bear.

It was only fifteen minutes later that he arrived at the house, hot and breathing hard, but there regardless. He jogged up to the front door and knocked, trying to catch his breath. Xavier pulled open the door with a look of open relief.

“Oh, thank God,” he said, pulling Erik inside. “I can keep them asleep for a while, but-” he broke off, taking in Erik’s appearance. “Did you… _run_ here?”

“Yes.” Erik rolled his eyes, unsure when the last time was that anyone had been excited that he showed up anywhere. “You think they’d give me a _car?”_

“I mean, they’re giving you _children,”_ he pointed out as his eyes wandered briefly across Erik’s body, his top damp and revealing some of the tattoos on his upper arms, since his zip-up had shifted as he’d run. Erik watched him, interest flaring as he registered that he was actually being _ogled,_ and Xavier focused abruptly on his face, releasing his arm and taking a step back as he cleared his throat hard. 

“The bear,” he said, shaking his head as he turned and walked over to where it laid on the dining room table. There were several small tears in it, along with a bite mark at its ear. Xavier stared down at the bear, reaching out and poking it morosely with a fingertip. “I never learned to sew,” he admitted. “When I tried to fix it, everything _rippled._ Normally I would just glamour over it until she went to school and I could have it fixed, but…” he waved a hand to the collar, thick and dark around his throat.

“Pitiful.” Erik snorted, sitting in front of the bear. “ _Everyone_ should at least know how to fix tears and buttons. The damage isn’t too bad.” He examined it, then sighed and waved a hand. The needle started moving and he watched it intently, guiding it back and forth, poking the stuffing in where it needed it. “My mother taught me how to sew as a way to practice finesse and control,” he said at Xavier’s surprised silence. “She taught me how to cook the same way. Mend a shirt, cook a meal, fix a sink… don’t use your hands for any of it. I broke and tore and burned shit, but I eventually learned and I sew better without hands now, actually.”

“Well, thank God for that,” he said wearily, sinking into his chair. He was silent for a moment, watching the needle move, then, “That would have been lovely,” he said quietly. “Having a mother to teach things of a more practical nature.” He cleared his throat quickly and continued, “I hope that they remember the things Magda taught them as they grow up.”

“My mother was an exceptional woman. One of the greatest regrets of my life is that she never got to meet Pietro and Wanda.” Erik kept his eyes on the bear. “Magda was a very good mother. She loved the twins and did whatever she could to help them. They’re so young, though. Five years old when they lost her. Do you remember anything from when _you_ were five? I don’t. A few years, they’ll barely remember her in reality, just pieces. That’s a shame, really.” He paused, debating whether or not he should ask, if he should even _care,_ then, “Your parents, they met the kids?”

“No.” Xavier’s laugh was short. “My mother drank herself into an early grave six years ago, and Kurt died shortly thereafter. I wouldn’t have let them meet the twins anyway, so it’s no big loss.” He leaned back in his chair, letting his head hang over the edge. He looked like a mess, Erik noted as he spared him a glance, exhaustion etched into his pale and freckled face. Erik was surprised at how much that bothered him. “I have memories from when I was five. But then, I’m not exactly the norm. You’ll keep Jean around if you’re smart, and she can show them some of the memories of their mom. Just to keep it fresh.”

Obviously, Erik didn’t care in the slightest that he was tired. There was no reason that he _should_ care. “You look like shit,” Erik informed him, and Xavier laughed without looking up. “You need to sleep. Mr. Bear is back in one piece, so that should help.” He held it out and Xavier sat up, taking it with a smile. He ran his fingers gently over the stitching and seemed impressed, though he didn’t vocalize this.

“Do you want to accompany us to the rally at the end of the month?” He asked instead as he stood from the table. “Pietro’s been begging to go for the better part of a year.”

Erik inclined a head. He had heard that there was a rally coming up soon. “If you are going to go, I’d rather go with you, make sure you guys don’t walk into something you shouldn’t. Sure. It’s good for them to see a rally, to be part of that community. They need to know who they are and where they came from.” He ran a hand over his head. “We need to talk to them about it. Make sure they understand that it can be dangerous if you’re not careful.”

“Oh, they know.” His expression was grim. “After Raven’s little speech to them, she gave them tiny backpacks with riot kits inside, and then spent an hour going over the use for each item. I would have stopped her, but technically that knowledge can’t _hurt_ them…” He shook his head, tucking the bear under his arm, and crossed to the house phone. He dialed a number and held it to his ear. “I’m calling you a taxi, don’t leave yet,” he murmured, glancing at the clock above the sink.

“Don’t worry about it,” Erik assured him, standing and stretching. “It’s only a ten, fifteen minute run, don’t waste your money. They’ll charge you extra for the early hour, it’s not worth it.”

“I don’t actually believe I asked for your opinion,” Xavier noted mildly, arching an eyebrow at him. “Ah, yes, hello. I need a taxi to pick up one passenger at 516 Walnut. Yes. Thank you.” He hung up and put the phone back in its receiver, then tossed the bear to Erik. “Here, you can go put this back with Wanda so you’re not forced to make small talk with me.” He chuckled, grabbing a stack of papers from the countertop and carrying them into the living room. Erik watched him go, squeezing the bear slightly.

He didn’t actually _mind_ making small talk with Xavier anymore.

Erik shook himself and headed upstairs, shooting Mr. Beans a dirty look as he gently placed the bear beneath Wanda’s arm, stroking her hair back and walking over to Pietro to tuck him in properly. He allowed himself to watch them sleep for a while, then headed back downstairs and stopped in the doorway of the living room, noticing a board set up on the side table. “Who’s playing chess?” he asked in surprise.

“Me, primarily,” Xavier answered absently, scratching out a line on the papers in front of him before glancing up at the board somewhat ruefully. “I’ve been trying to teach the kids, but Pietro doesn’t have the patience for it and Wanda only cares about the knights.” He chuckled. “Sometimes Jean or Hank will linger and play me, but Hank is just terrible and Jean ends up getting distracted by reading me reading her.”

“Huh.” Erik leaned over the board, examining it. “Is this the Queen’s Gambit? It looks like the opening to the Queen’s Gambit.”

Xavier looked up at him in surprise, then offered a sunny smile. “It is,” he agreed warmly. “Jean said she wanted to show Scott up, so I taught her a couple actual strategies and openings. You play, then? I didn’t know extremist terrorist groups had time.” But there wasn’t heat in his words, instead an almost teasing tone.

Erik bit back a smile, confused by the impulse, and made the move for the counter, one of very few that could block that particular moveset, and found himself responding in the same vein. “We don’t _only_ blow up warehouses and research facilities, Xavier. On occasion we play chess, garden, and even sometimes rescue kittens. Not that one,” he said sourly as Mr. Beans sauntered in. “You’ll be lucky if I don’t boot you out the door as I go,” he threatened, and Mr. Beans started washing herself, unconcerned.

Xavier laughed, eyes crinkling up as he leaned back against the couch. “Good luck getting them to forgive you for that,” he noted, and reached across the space to prod a pawn forward. “I’m glad that the Brotherhood has such varied-” There was a small honk from outside and Xavier smiled a little, glancing up at him. “Go on, then. I’ll have to utterly demolish you in a game another day.”

“That is _highly_ unlikely,” Erik informed him, moving a knight into place and straightening. “Your defeat has merely been postponed. Goodnight, Xavier. Kick the cat for me as you go to bed, which you should be doing soon.” He looked at the clock pointedly, then headed for the door, unsure if he should wave or say goodbye or what, exactly, would be protocol with the man who was fostering your estranged children, a man Erik didn’t ostensibly hate anymore, but they definitely weren’t _friends with_ in any sense of the word.

Sometimes Erik forgot that Xavier’s sarcasm could actually be funny, or how his laugh could make those incredibly blue eyes darken and warm. Ridiculous, of course, but it was true. 

_Ridiculous,_ he repeated firmly to himself, and climbed into the cab, muttering his address and leaning back in the seat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment if you have any thoughts/feelings/questions, and a HAPPY new year to you all! It's gotta be better. We're going to make this year better. Thanks to everyone who has kudo-ed or commented and helped save the end of 2020 for me. Publishing Cherik adventures on AO3 was one of my only highlights of this past year, so thank you so much!


	5. Here, Here is the Chess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles and Erik play the titular game of chess, and later, Erik gets recognized by a group of humans on his way to meet up with Charles and the kids.

The next few days passed similarly to the few before that. Erik would come over after the kids got off school or in time for dinner, the twins would chatter to him about their days or ideas, and he would provide dessert. Sometimes they then played games in the backyard, and other times they played board games.

Xavier was far less tense around Erik, but continued looking steadily worse, dark marks slowly smearing under his eyes. He was always animated with the kids, however, and freely answered any questions Erik had about them, so he could hardly chastise the man for not taking care of himself. It wasn’t his business, after all, as long as the children were okay.

After a lot of thought, Erik finally accepted that Xavier did, in fact, deserve to be called by his first name, deserved the respect that such a thing entailed. Erik couldn’t deny that his children were happy and well-cared for, and honestly, in the last two weeks, after the initial blowup where Erik hadn’t helped matters, Xavier had been nothing but helpful. Giving him information on the kids, making him part of their lives, giving him the chance to be a father again… yes, Xavier deserved to not be referred to in a way Erik had meant disrespectfully. He deserved better than that, and Erik began making a conscious effort to refer to him by his first name both internally and aloud.

They did, in fact, play chess, and _Charles_ was irritatingly talented. The kids usually watched them for a few minutes before getting bored and starting to play with their toys on the floor, leaving their match relatively unrefereed. Charles won the first game, Erik immediately challenged him to a rematch and won, and the third game was a stalemate.

They put the kids to bed together every night, and there was more than a small piece of Erik that worried quietly about setting this joint tradition for them. Sooner or later, they would be living with him again, and they would struggle with the abrupt change in their nightly routine. Charles would no longer be around to read stories to them.

“We’ll wean them off it,” Charles noted distantly when he caught sight of Erik’s expression when they left the room on Thursday night. “I’ll be ‘sick’ or something and have you start reading to them. They’ll get used to it and it’ll be grand. Right as rain.” He led the way downstairs. “You’re lucky, actually. Before my collar, I would make pictures in their minds to follow along with the story. It would have been a much harder act for you to follow.” He winked at him as he picked a mug of coffee off the table.

He took a drink of his coffee, checking his watch, and grabbed his usual stack of grading from the countertop. “I’m sure your voice would be lovely at reading stories to them instead, however,” he added as he sat on the couch.

_He likes my voice?_ That was strange. Erik had noticed in the past few days that Charles watched him in a slightly different way now- almost like his eyes lingered more than they should, his behavior had altered very slightly in a positive way. He made little remarks like the one he’d just made, and those remarks never failed to make Erik feel surprisingly pleased. After all, _he_ let his own eyes linger on Charles’ smile, his eyes and hands

Erik leaned against the doorway, watching him as he pushed those thoughts away in light of a more serious problem than a minor attraction to his children’s foster father. Should he ask about what he had been noticing? Should he push, try to understand what was going on? Was it even _slightly_ his place to ask?

Well, Charles was watching his children. It mattered. “Drinking coffee at this time of night is a terrible idea,” he said after a moment and Charles paused, mug halfway to his mouth. “You know, normal people _sleep_ at night, Xavier.” 

Sometimes he still slipped up, still tried to create distance verbally with the last name rather than allowing the familiarity of the first name. He didn’t want Charles to know, honestly. He didn’t want anyone to know that his view of the little telepathic professor was very slowly and almost painfully shifting. Erik had always kept things to himself, and things that mattered, things he _felt,_ even more quiet.

Charles chuckled and took a drink. “Do they? You know, first chess and now regular sleep schedules… maybe I should be looking into joining the Brotherhood after all.” He set his mug down and scrubbed a hand down his face. “I can’t sleep. I’ve too much marking to do, and-“ he stopped briefly, then continued. “And the collar messes with my dreams.”

“Tell me about it,” Erik muttered, looking away and trying to bury the memories of the dream he’d had last night, which had surprisingly vividly starred Charles. “I don’t like it either. We could always petition for them off. We’re not at each other’s throats currently. Fuck the marking, though. Who gives a shit? Just skim, and if it looks like they wrote something coherent, give them an A. If they’re stuck up assholes, give them a B. If you don’t like them, give them a C. Easy.” He shrugged, watching Charles as he laughed. “So you’ve been not sleeping because you don’t like your dreams? You’re a psionic, there’s no kind of control? You can’t take ZzzQuil or something like that?”

“Normally I could control it somewhat,” Charles allowed with a chuckle, rubbing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment. “Or I could rest in someone else’s dreams, fall asleep to someone else’s mind. It’s not guaranteed, but it helps. That’s not an option now.” He scratched out another line in the essay as he opened his eyes. “I don’t like taking medications in general, but sleep aids especially; I can’t risk sleeping through if the twins need something. As for collar removal, there’s no way in hell they’d even consider it.”

Erik watched him, thinking. “What’s so bad about your dreams? Mine have been weird as fuck, and vivid, but that’s about it. They haven’t been too bad yet.” A few shockingly painful nightmares, but he honestly didn’t feel like going into them right now. Most of them involved one of the jobs he’d done, or hurting someone, or something else unpleasant. It was best to just not get into it.

Charles inclined his head and fiddled with his pen for a moment, then, “You said yourself that when we were young, mutations weren’t nearly as known. We’ve come a long way in the last twenty years, it’s really nearly astonishing- but I manifested in infancy. We don’t actually know if I was born with it or if I manifested as a toddler, since I can’t quite…” he wiggled his fingers near his head absently, probably to signify that he had no memory of it. “So, when I started screaming about the voices and images when I was a kid, they assumed quite naturally that I was schizophrenic.” He dragged the end of his pen across his lips in thought, eyes distant, and Erik watched him, feeling pain for a tiny boy who didn’t know he had a mutation and just wanted to be normal.

“Normally you don’t see or diagnose schizophrenia in small children or children at all, but I clearly had a problem, so they jumped the gun and medicated.” Charles shrugged. “The drugs did… a lot of different things. Including muffling my mutation, which only confirmed to them that I was in fact mentally ill. I was on them and in and out of inpatient facilities until I was fifteen.”

He cleared his throat, rolling his shoulders back, and assumed a more brisk air as Erik stared at him in shock. “Anyways. When I wake up without my ability, it’s rather aggressively similar and sometimes I struggle to snap back to the present. Which is fine, of course, but I’d rather avoid it if possible.” He reached out, taking his coffee cup and taking a deep and grateful drink of it.

_It’s very nice that you have had a different reaction, but that is not everyone’s experience,_ he had snapped at Charles on the staircase.

_I’ll thank you not to assume that you know anything about me or how my mutant experience has influenced my life,_ he had replied so casually.

Erik felt shame flood him as he watched Charles quietly grading. He knew better than to assume the reality of any mutant’s life or experience, and he had done it anyway. An Alpha-level telepath who had manifested at infancy, who had been drugged until he was well into puberty… yes, Erik could see why he would have trouble sleeping now. “What would help?” he asked, picking up a book at random and turning it in his hands. “Just getting the collar off?”

“Probably,” he agreed, setting the essay aside with a sigh and stretching. “But again, they’re not going to even consider it. Who would trust a Crack to be honest?” He offered Erik a crooked smile, eyes sparkling somewhat merrily.

Erik inclined his head, ashamed again. “I may owe you an apology for that,” he said after a moment, looking away. “I was not exactly rational at the time, but that’s no excuse for putting down another mutant. I’m sorry for that.”

Charles snorted. “Mm. The ease with which it flowed off the tongue, however, suggests it wasn’t the first time.” He shrugged, seemingly unbothered. “It’s not like I’m some wilting flower who’s never heard the insult before. It’s actually rather unoriginal, you should hear some of the more creative terms. Your anger, like most, is born out of ignorance. It’s not new.” He took another drink of coffee and glanced around at their chessboard. “Are you going to head out?” He asked, studying the pieces. “Or are you up for me showing you up again?”

Erik smiled a little and settled across from him. “To be fair, I have won twice.”

“You won once, and the second was a stalemate,” he pointed out, taking white as always and making an opening move.

It was unsettling, how easy it was at times to be around him. Unfortunately, he did have a point-- without the collar, Erik could be tempted to believe that he was influencing him or manipulating him in some way. With it, the explanation was simply that he wasn’t a _complete_ asshole.

It made Erik unsure about what they were doing, and the increasing attraction he was beginning to feel every time he looked at the telepath made Erik wonder where exactly this path was headed.

* * *

It was a full eighteen days, a little over two weeks that he had been back properly, when Erik was finally recognized.

He was walking down the sidewalk, thinking about the red velvet cake in the bag and grinning to himself about how excited Wanda was going to be, when someone stepped out in front of him. Grunting something that sounded enough like an apology that he could get away with it, Erik stepped to the side, and the man stepped with him.

Erik lifted his head, frowning at the man he didn’t know, who was glaring at him like he was the Devil himself. “Can I help you?” he asked, his tone not exactly friendly. This could be any number of things, he told himself. There were a million reasons why the man could be staring at him like that and keeping him from moving down the street.

But he knew there was only reason it was happening, before the man even opened his mouth. “You’re Magneto,” the man said, his fists clenched. “You piece of shit. You can’t just walk around like you own the goddamn place, like you’re not a _murderer.”_

Erik glanced up as others appeared as if they’d been summoned. Five in all. Erik calculated the odds- he was tired, hadn’t slept well, and the collar was really starting to wear on him. He struggled to move anything bigger than a _pen,_ and not even that with the amount of finesse he needed it to have. He couldn’t imagine his gift would be much use in a fight.

Of course, he’d learned plenty of hand-to-hand combat. Shaw had demanded it, had forced everyone to learn, touting the fact that humans could take your powers and then you’d have nothing, so you needed to learn how to do everything. It was one of the things Erik had followed religiously.

These men looked like they were not trained. They were angry, though, and _righteously_ angry, which was a problem at the best of times. One held a bat, one carried a knife, two were bare-handed, and the leader, the one who had stopped him, had a knife as well. Normally those pathetic pieces of metal would pose not even the slightest threat to Erik, but he noticed now with unease that he could barely feel them, could barely move them.

He put down the bag that the cake was in slowly, watching them carefully. “Listen,” he said. “I don’t know what you think-”

“You’re _Magneto.”_ The leader stepped forward, his hands balling into white-knuckled fists around the handle of the knife he carried. “Don’t you fucking pretend, we _know_ who you are. You can’t say you’re not.”

“I’m here to help now,” Erik tried lamely, and disbelieving fury flashed across the faces staring at him, and he took in a deep breath. He had never been good with words, really- he had never been a speech maker of any kind. “I am here to assist MAD in apprehending Shaw. I am not here to hurt anyone. I’ve been here for two weeks-”

“Two weeks and you’ve probably done damage already.” The one with no weapons snarled. “Don’t play that game. You’re a goddamn terrorist, Lensherr. And that little collar on you? It’s going to help us.”

“Welcome to karma,” the leader snarled.

“Siri,” Erik said, pulling off his jacket and putting it gently over the cake bag. “Text Charles, ‘I’m going to be late, I’m sorry.’”

“Message to Charles: I’m going to be late, I’m sorry,” Siri chirped from his pocket happily. “Ready to send it?”

“Send,” Erik managed, before the one with the bat swung at him, almost catching him in the side of the head. Erik snarled, whirling, and lunged.

He had to get back to the kids.

To Charles.

* * *

“Hey.” Forty minutes later, Erik winced as he pressed the phone to his ear- one of the assholes had clipped his ear and it _hurt_ as he pressed the phone to it. “I know you’re probably pissed that I’m late and I’m sorry, I’ll apologize to the kids too. But can you get them upstairs or outside or something for a minute and distract them? I need to use your restroom and clean up and I don’t want them to see.” He looked at the house, standing far enough back that the kids shouldn’t be able to see him if they looked out a window.

“What?” There was alarm in the elegant voice. “See what? Wanda, love, can you and Pietro play in the backyard for a bit? I have to talk to one of my students about interdimensional theory with parallel narratives in the multiverse-” Erik could faintly hear the kids groaning and complaining, and then their voices faded as he grinned a little- Charles had pulled that out so flawlessly, it made one wonder if he did that often to get privacy. “That always works. What’s going on?”

“It’s fine,” Erik assured, moving across the street and opening the door, hanging up the phone. “I’ll be back out,” he called in the direction of the kitchen, assuming that was where Charles was, heading toward the bathroom. There was a lot of blood, he could feel by the stickiness across his face. His nose and lip were still bleeding too, adding to the mess. The heat that throbbed dully around his left eye told him that he would definitely have a black eye, and his side ached and smarted, as did a spot on his leg, and a hundred other smaller hurts. He could clean up the blood, but he couldn’t do anything about the bruising, not right now. He’d have to do some impromptu repairing of his clothing- he didn’t want them to see bandaging or bruising through the rips.

Footsteps followed immediately and hands were on his shoulders. He very nearly flinched, nearly lashed out, but reminded himself just in time that he was in their house, he was safe, and of course it was just Charles that was touching him. Charles ignored his tensing and turned him, searching his face and form quickly. His eyes widened as he took in the blood and red marks that would, soon enough, turn into bruises.

“Bloody _hell,_ Erik.” He stared at him, then shut the toilet seat quickly. “Sit down, hold still.” He vanished at a jog, returning in seconds with arms full of frozen bagged vegetables. “What the fuck _happened?”_

Erik sat heavily on the toilet seat, pressing his sleeve to his nose and squeezing it to try and stop the flow of blood. “Well,” he said indistinctly, “Apparently some upstanding citizens thought that someone of my moral caliber shouldn’t be roaming free. It’s all right. I’ve looked worse. _They_ look worse.” He blanched as a new thought occurred to him. “I hope a camera caught it or something or they’ll run to the police whining about how the big bad Magneto attacked them.”

“I have a friend, I’ll have her look into it. _Christ,_ Erik, you look terrible.” He ran a washcloth under the sink and reached out with gentle fingers, tilting Erik’s chin back carefully. Erik tried not to think too much about how good it felt; Charles had beautiful hands, soft and warm and elegantly shaped. “Hold still, let me clean the blood off so I can see how bad it is.”

“Oh, you’ve got an MD too?” Erik closed his eyes, relaxing a little into the warm and damp cloth. At least Charles knew how to handle wounds- the only other person who had ever cleaned him up had been Azazel, and the teleporter had been anything but gentle. His hands felt soothing on Erik’s battered face. “Do tell, Dr. Xavier. How old were you when you got that? Nine?” His lips twitched as he fought a smile and he immediately regretted it as his lip flared in pain.

“You’re being a bitch because you’re feeling vulnerable,” Charles informed him frankly, dabbing at the blood on his face carefully, and Erik stifled a laugh. “I would assume a bachelor’s in biology and a masters in bioengineering would be enough to garner me some knowledge about the human body.” He was quiet for a moment, rinsing the rag and then starting cleaning off the blood again, then, “Besides. I’ve a fair amount of experience with bruises. I know how much it sucks.”

Erik opened his eyes, looking up at him. There were so many reasons why that could be true, and it wasn’t Erik’s place to ask about any them. He had already somehow earned some of Charles’ story, but he wanted him to tell him more things only when he felt like it. “I’m sorry,” he said after a moment, knowing that wasn’t enough but knowing that was probably all he should by rights say. “But it’s really not as bad as it looks, probably. I just didn’t want the kids to see. They’d be upset if they saw all the blood.”

Charles made a tsking noise and raised the nearest bag of vegetables- frozen corn- to Erik’s cheek gently. “Hold this here,” he directed, and then began unbuttoning Erik’s shirt, his fingers hesitating for just a beat before beginning and working quickly, movements now sharp and clinical. That was good, Erik thought as he looked up at the ceiling, trying _not_ to think about Charles undressing him. In another circumstance this would be nice, actually. But the amount of blood all over him still and the pain he was in killed the mood somewhat. “They would probably be upset about the blood,” Charles agreed finally as he rinsed his rag again and began cleaning the cuts on Erik’s ribs.

His silence made Erik curious and he glanced at him to see that Charles’ nostrils were flared, his jaw clenching, and Erik studied him with surprise. Charles was _angry._ Charles had often been angry with him, this particular expression on the telepath’s face was nothing new… but for the first time, Erik didn’t know the cause. Was the anger directed at him for fighting, or at them for fighting him?

“I did try to talk my way out of it,” Erik told him now, watching his face carefully. “Like a good little civilized mutant. But they weren’t having it. They’re just lucky I’m muffled. I did cause some damage, but it could and would have been worse if I weren’t.”

Charles clenched his jaw for a moment, turning to open a first-aid kit that he’d laid on the floor, and pulled out some butterfly bandages. “And is your mind magically changed? Humans are good and fine and glorious?” He didn’t let Erik answer, forging forward angrily. “And are they now at peace, now that they’ve beaten you? No. _Nothing_ is solved, it just bred more anger and more pain for everyone. Violence is never the goddamn answer and clearly they knew that because they were angry about you doing it and yet they still took it upon themselves-” he stopped, taking a deep breath as he bandaged the cuts. “I’ll see to it that it’s reported,” he said finally.

Erik had to genuinely lock his hands around the bag of corn and his own knee until the impulse to yank Charles up and kiss him silly subsided. He was angry for _Erik’s_ sake. Mostly. He was also angry at the ideals of violence, but much more importantly, he was angry for Erik’s sake, and although Erik had seen him blisteringly angry before, _protective_ anger on behalf of _Erik…_ it was a gorgeous look on him. His nostrils flared, his eyes sparked, his mouth shot insults, his shoulders and arms all tense and angry. It was more than gorgeous, it was probably one of the hottest things Erik Lensherr had ever seen.

Once the mad urge to touch the other man had passed, Erik gave a quiet laugh. “I’m sure your friends at the police station will try very hard to find the people who beat up Magneto,” he teased gently. “It’s fine. The kids weren’t there, we all lived.” _I think they all did anyway. I wasn’t too careful,_ he admitted to himself. “I expected something like this at some point- I should wear a hat or sunglasses or something when I go out in public. My face is known, as are my past actions. You can’t blame people for being angry.”

“Yes, I can.” The words were somewhat petulant and Charles’ face broke into a small smile. “I’ll convince them to take it seriously. I can be very persuasive.” He found antibiotic cream, smeared it on a finger, and began applying it carefully around the butterfly bandaids. Erik kept very still, every movement like fire on his skin. “People will forget about you, Erik. The longer you’re out of the spotlight, the more you’ll become a distant memory. Your collar will be off soon enough, and then you’ll be safe. Maybe once they take down the Brotherhood, MAD can release a statement that you were a double agent or something, that you’re the reason they stopped them. It wouldn’t be completely false.”

He glanced up at Erik, kneeling before him on the ground, blue eyes dark and worried in a pale and freckled face, hands spattered with blood. Erik couldn’t help but stare and wonder if he had any idea what he looked like, how beautiful he was. If he had any idea what it felt like for Erik to have someone worried for him. “You could live out in the country with the kids,” he pointed out somewhat gently. “Live a normal life with them. Go camping. Your past mistakes won’t overshadow your life forever.”

Erik couldn’t stop himself this time, and reached out, wiping off a small spot of blood on Charles’ cheek. He pulled his hand back, taking in a deep breath. “A house in the country,” he said, thinking about it. “That’s not a terrible idea. They’d probably like that, actually.”

“You can have the Westchester Estate,” he suggested absently, pulling out gauze and taping it over the bandages. “There’s stables round the back, Wanda could get a pony. Oh, she’d just fall over and die with sheer delight.” He grinned up at Erik.

Erik cleared his throat. “I’m not getting her a horse. She would bring it in the house. Why don’t you live in the West-”

“ _Papa!”_ Wanda shrieked in excitement, feet pounding along the hallway. “Papa I found a _bird_ can I keep it?!”

“Oh god.” Erik muttered, running a hand down his face. “A bird. You have a _cat.”_

“No,” Charles said immediately, moving to block the doorway so that Wanda wouldn’t be able to look in. “Leave the bird alone, sunflower. I’ll be out in a few minutes, okay? I’m almost done with my student and then your dad is going to stop by.”

“But _Papa,”_ she whined. “It’s a _pretty_ bird. And Jean said sometimes baby birds fall out of their nests and can’t get back in.”

Erik grinned a little. It was September- there _were_ no baby birds.

“No such luck, love of my life.” He moved into the hall and kissed her head. “Go outside and I’ll come out to see her in a second.”

Erik’s daughter gave a suffering sigh and pouted loudly out the door. Charles watched her go fondly, then ducked back into the bathroom and finished pressing the last bandage onto Erik’s ribcage.

“Here,” he said, pressing a small bottle of bruise cream into his hand. “This stuff always worked wonders for me. Put this on and I’ll run and grab you something to wear that’s not covered in blood and dirt.” He studied him as if to gauge the size, then nodded. “Yeah, the shirt Victor left should fit. Hang on.” He vanished back upstairs.

_Victor._ Who the hell was Victor? Erik frowned after him hard, but a small idea woke in the back of his mind. He had assumed that Charles was straight, as most people were. But… was he not? Those looks, the lingering examinations, made Erik wonder suddenly.

He quickly cleaned off the small wound on his leg and put a bandage over it, standing and looking at himself in the mirror. Yup, he thought to himself with a sigh, those were going to be _beautiful_ bruises. The small cuts and scrapes would be hard to argue away, but he would figure out something. There was no way he’d say anything about a fight to the kids. He’d say he got run over by a bicycle messenger or something- he’d heard of that happening, and the kids would probably find it very funny.

“No vehicular accidents.” Charles said as he reappeared in the doorway. “Say something funny. You tripped over the cat or something. Anyways, here.” He held out a dark grey t-shirt and Erik felt almost ill at the near-mistake. Of course the kids would be more sensitive to vehicular accidents than anything else. Jesus. “It’s clean, of course, and it serves the asshole right for never coming back to get his shit. He’s lucky I didn’t text him pictures of it in a garbage can.”

Erik laughed and took it, pulling off the remains of his own shirt and pulling the new one on. It fit fine, well enough for this, anyway. “Was he incredibly fond of this particular shirt? Who was Victor?”

“An ex.” He pursed his lips slightly. “An especially irritating one. I should have dated Logan instead, it was an absolutely terrible choice of brother. Don’t worry, the kids never met him.” He waved a hand, shaking his head quickly. “He was far too rough around the edges for me to allow near them.”

Erik laughed a little, considering this new information. “I don’t know if Logan Howlett would have been a particularly _great_ choice either, though,” he mused. “He’s not exactly a teddy bear. He’d probably make you go camping.”

“Which would be absolutely dreadful.” Charles’ smile was easy and warm. “But would not, however, end up in bruises. Come on, we need to see if the kids have just seen a bird, or if they’ve actually snatched it out of the sky.” He gave a heavy sigh. “Which either one of them could have done.”

Erik followed him slowly, trying to ignore the rush of bizarrely protective fury that blew through him at the idea of someone touching all that soft, pretty, delicate skin and leaving bruises intentionally. Of course, Erik had no aversion to bruising in play- in his particular experience, he enjoyed utilizing bondage, and that often left marks. But that was different, and the way that Charles had phrased it put that out of the realm of possibility.

“If you ever want anyone disappeared, I have a hookup,” Erik said, going for nonchalance. “Just so you know.”

Charles laughed, the sound warm and oddly surprised, and glanced up at him. “What part of the last half hour would make you think that I would condone violence on my behalf? It never gets answers, it just breeds more problems.”

“I said nothing about violence,” Erik pointed out. “I just said disappeared. Maybe he would just be off on a nice little island, somewhere sunny. With sea turtles and pineapples. I didn’t say anything about _killing_ him.” Although, that would be part of it. Obviously. Victor had hurt the foster father of Erik’s children. Charles had protected Wanda and Pietro, so he deserved and had earned a degree of Erik’s protection.

“No.” Charles offered a smile, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Although I… I appreciate the sentiment, I learned a long time ago how to take care of myself. I don’t need vengeance.” He turned, opening the door, and Pietro gave a shout of excitement.

“Dad’s here!” he yelled to Wanda, and she _released_ the bird in her hands to run to Erik, reaching him many seconds after Pietro had already slammed into his side.

Erik saw stars for a moment, his son hitting exactly where he’d been hurt, but he hugged them against him anyway, kissing their heads. “Hello, babies,” he said warmly, hoping that they didn’t hear the rough edge to his voice. “I saw you _holding_ a bird, Wanda. You can’t just pick up wild animals, they could hurt you. Peck your fingers off.” He wiggled the kids playfully and she giggled up at him.

Charles crouched, disentangling the children gently. “Your dad,” he said very seriously, “ _Tripped_ over Mr. Beans when he came in. Yes, the cat’s fine. But he’s going to be a bit sore, lovelies, so be gentle with him, hm?”

“Mr. Beans is bad,” Pietro agreed solemnly as Wanda giggled again, beaming up at Erik.

_Thank you,_ Erik projected at Charles, hoping he’d hear it. He hadn’t projected at him yet, with the exception of the shitty things he’d sent on that first few weeks, but it was necessary here. He focused on the kids, booping their noses. “Mr. Beans is _very_ bad,” he agreed with a smile. “But she’s okay. It’s not her fault that I was texting and walking, I should have been paying attention. How was your day?” He stood and led them inside, twirling Wanda with one hand and Pietro with the other.

“Good.” Pietro laughed as he spun. Charles trailed after them, hands in his pockets.

“They’re very excited because they have a half-day on Thursday, before Fall Break. There are parent-teacher conferences,” he explained. “You can come, if you’d like.”

Pietro frowned. “I don’t want to.”

Charles laughed. “Well, I wasn’t inviting you, sunshine. You’re going to go to the skating rink with Jean and Scott, she’s already planned it all out.”

Erik raised an eyebrow at Pietro. “Is there something we should know about before we go in there, buddy?”

“No.” He glared at the floor and Charles smoothed his hand over the white-blonde hair. 

“We’re not going to be angry with you if you’re not having the best time in class, Pietro. School isn’t always easy for people.”

“We won’t be mad as long as you’re trying. If you’re trying and you’re still struggling, that’s okay.” Erik squeezed Pietro’s hand. “I mean, I wasn’t good at school. Your dad did so bad in school sometimes, he needed to retake classes.” The problem had been a complete and total lack of trying, honestly. Shaw had been coming into his power when Erik had started high school, and all he’d wanted to do was join the seemingly glorious cause.

“Really?” Pietro peeked up at him grudgingly.

“Really.” Erik nodded. “I wasn’t very good at school. When I was young I had too much energy, when I was older I was stupid and stopped caring about school. So I never had good grades. If you’re having problems, we need to know about them so we can help you fix it and get good grades.”

“Okay,” he allowed reluctantly, frowning a little but allowing this nonetheless.

Erik kissed his hair and then Wanda’s, helping them get ready for the dinner he was late for and apologizing for not bringing the dessert. After the fight, Erik had looked for the bag and had discovered he’d accidentally thrown one of the men into the cake. He may or may not have punched said man again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's so funny to me how the Cherik fandom is like _but where is the chess tho_ when they're reading any Cherik fic. Clarke and I are the same way, so it's in every single Cherik fic we do.


	6. Thanksgiving-Themed Trenches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys meet up with Moira, survive Thanksgiving, and attend the Mutant Rights rally.

“So how did the parent-teacher conference go?” Moira glanced at them as they climbed into the car. Charles took the back seat, leaving Erik to take the front. Normally he would be tempted to think it was an act of kindness for Erik’s longer legs, but he suspected that Charles knew Erik still wasn’t entirely friendly with Moira and wanted to force them together.

“Well, it could have gone worse,” Charles noted. “Pietro struggles to stay in his seat and focus. We could have expected that. He’s always been too busy talking to his friends and running around to be able to focus.”

Erik laughed a little. “Yeah, we could have probably expected that. He can’t even stay in his seat at dinner, and that’s getting food and being at home. I can’t imagine school is easy for him. But at least his grades are decent when he’s working with partners, or the teacher. So it’s not a learning disability that’s giving him bad grades, it’s just too much energy.”

Charles made a noise of thought, tilting his head slightly as he studied the paper Ms. Monroe had given them. “And then Wanda has A’s in everything but social studies and handwriting, because she says they’re _boring_ and actually _refuses_ to pay attention. My lord, handwriting doesn’t even require any effort.”

“Handwriting can take a lot of effort for some people,” Moira pointed out absently as Erik laughed, checking the light before making a turn. They were headed to a coffee shop not far from Charles’ house for their weekly check-in.

Erik wasn’t overly fond of the check-ins. Ever since the camping trip, ever since the sewing incident, ever since he’d started using Charles’ name, she had started looking entirely _too pleased_ with herself. She was always watching them, hiding her smile with her cup. Erik had taken to discreetly hooking all her paperclips into enormous tangles inside her desk drawer, and he wondered internally if this was why they were having their check-in at the coffee shop rather than her office as usual.

“We should check to make sure that she doesn’t have some kind of problem with her hands,” Erik said, drawing his attention back to the issue. “I knew a girl who needed a special kind of pencil and then she could write. Maybe Wanda hates it because she struggles with it.” Erik grinned. “She thinks social studies is boring. That’s so funny. They’re just _stories._ She _likes_ stories.”

“Exactly, she’s at the top of the class in Reading!” Charles rolled his eyes, leaning forward and handing Erik the paper. “I suppose she gets bogged down with geography or the historical dates or something.”

Erik scanned it thoughtfully. “Well… maybe we can make it a game. Maybe we can teach her that stuff in a fun way, a way that makes sense to her. Aren’t there videos somewhere? Like children’s history videos?” Charles grinned at him, sapphire eyes sparkling, and Erik frowned a little, eyeing him, twisted in his seat to do so. “What?”

“It’s just cute to watch you problem-solve,” he observed, then looked sharply out the window, clearing his throat as Moira leaned up to stare at him through the rearview mirror. Erik grinned a little, pleased and off-balance. He thought he was cute? “There are videos, yes. We’ll find those. We will absolutely work with her.”

“Mm.” Moira made a contented sound and Erik eyed her, displeased with this particular turn of events. He didn’t like MAD knowing anything about his personal life at all.

They rode the rest of the way in silence, Erik checking the side mirror every so often to admire the exact shade of pink Charles had turned. Charles thought that Erik was cute. Erik had thought that Charles was attractive for a long while now, but Charles thought _Erik_ was cute? He wasn’t sure if anyone had ever thought he was cute.

He would much rather be off with Charles somewhere finding other ways to make him blush.

They sat outside in the cafe, because despite Charles’ hatred of camping, he was quite fond of being outdoors. Moira was at the counter waiting for her drink when Charles hummed. “She’s bound to ask and I forgot to mention it earlier. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving, and the next day is the rally. Would you like to head home, or stay the night in the house? We have a guest room.”

“Oh shit, I forgot about Thanksgiving.” Erik scrubbed at his hair. It was still far too short. “I mean… yeah, I can stay, if you don’t mind. Help cook food tomorrow. You don’t know how to cook half the time anyway.”

“Okay, that’s deeply rude. But also accurate. Last Thanksgiving, I got away with it because Raven was there to do the turkey.” He sighed heavily. “But she’s off on assignment this year and the kids are _American,_ they _have_ to have a turkey.”

“Oh god, the kids _are_ American.” Erik stared at him. For some reason, this particular point of his children’s nationality had never hit him. Did they have to celebrate the Fourth of July too? “Shit. All right, do you _have_ a turkey? Do we have to go get things for it?”

Charles stared at him. “How have you never processed the fact that your children are American citizens?”

“Because I’m apparently an idiot,” Erik snapped, running through the Thanksgivings he’d seen on television. “We need a turkey, and mashed potatoes and those ugly orange things, and cranberry sauce. What else do we need?”

Charles paused, a slow grin working its way gradually across his face. “Have you never had an American Thanksgiving? Ever? Erik, you came over at what, thirteen? You never visited with friends, you never went to Magda’s?”

“I am _German.”_ Erik stared at him. “My mother never wanted to do Thanksgiving and I never cared because it’s just sitting and eating and talking to people and I hate talking to big groups of people so why would I subject myself to that willingly?”

Charles arched an eyebrow and nodded, conceding that point. “Fair enough, then. I already have everything we’ll need, and I’ve printed out recipes and things to try to figure out how to do it. But the thing with _cooking_ is that it’s not an exact science, it’s variable and nebulous. Baking, at least, follows strict instructions.” He considered this for a moment, then shook his head. “It’ll be fine. I’m highly educated and you’re incredibly street-smart. Between the two of us, cooking a simple Thanksgiving lunch for our children should be easy enough.”

_Our._ Erik watched him as Charles began lecturing on all of the different things that would be involved with creating a full Thanksgiving for the kids. _Our children._ He would have thought that hearing that would enrage him, a confirmation of Charles’ ownership and connection to Erik’s children.

But in actuality, all he felt was a strange, hesitant, kind of quiet agreement, fragile as a bird’s egg, but real nonetheless.

Moira sat at their table then, catching the tail end of the speech, and looked delighted to hear that they were planning on spending the holiday as a joint unit for the kids. She started interrogating them (under the guise of pleasantries) on how things had been going, and Erik settled in for the usual unpleasant ride. He did, at least, feel more secure this week, sure now that Charles wasn’t going to throw him under the bus for anything.

Charles did mention the attack, however. He assured Moira that Erik hadn’t been at fault and that a friend of his had already located the security tapes outside the bakery that had caught the skirmish.

“A friend of _yours?”_ she questioned lightly, taking a sip of her latte.

“Yeah.” Charles arched an eyebrow. “It would hardly do the kids good to have their father dragged back to prison, particularly when he was not at fault for this instance. We’ve sent the videos to MAD, Raven assured me that he won’t face repercussions for it.”

“Hm. That was nice of you.” Moira took another drink, looking away to hide her smile, then began questioning Erik on how the anger management lessons were going and whether or not he thought that the lessons had helped him during the fight.

* * *

It turned out that it was not, in fact, _easy enough_ to cook a ‘simple Thanksgiving lunch,’ primarily because it turned out that Charles’ idea of a ‘simple Thanksgiving lunch’ involved enough food to feed the entire neighborhood plus guests.

The kids were delighted that Erik had stayed the night and ran circles around him (making descending the stairs rather treacherous), shouting gleefully over his presence. They eventually got bored with this and returned to their own activities (they had games that no one else could understand, games that involved red light and blurs of speed) as Erik headed into the kitchen. He found Charles sitting there, staring with wide-eyed horror at the enormous display of ingredients and food that had been spread out on the table, and they got to work.

Thanksgiving lunch turned into dinner, as the turkey was only half-thawed and they ruined the first three containers of cranberry sauce. Around one in the afternoon, Jean and Scott showed up, the redhead laughing and taking the whisk from Charles’ clumsy fingers as he tried to mix out his fourth attempt at a pie with Erik issuing complaints and criticism from across the room, busy with stabbing the turkey with a meat thermometer. Jean’s presence helped immensely, and Scott helped contain the children in the living room so that they didn’t make it even more chaotic.

The mess was _enormous._ There was baking soda on the walls, flour in Charles’ curls, stuffing and cranberry sauce splattered and sprayed across surfaces like gore. Erik had never made a meal anywhere near this size and had possessed absolutely no concept of how intensely disastrous the fallout from the endeavor would be.

But, at five p.m., after _nine hours_ of struggling with the Herculean act, the three presented the kids and Scott with a dinner. Jean had escaped with less damage than they, both because she’d only been working for four hours and because she’d utilized her telekinesis to help cook, but Erik and Charles looked like they’d waded through nine hours of Thanksgiving-themed trenches. Wanda giggled incessantly and Pietro cackled openly, pointing at them as he loaded his plate with an enormous column of mashed potatoes.

Erik insisted on giving them hugs and the kids squealed, squirming away from the mess, and he sat next to Charles, marvelling again for what felt like the hundredth time how very normal it felt to be here, to be raising the kids with someone who only a few weeks ago had been a stranger and an enemy. But he felt confusingly normal and happy, comfortable as he helped cut the turkey and give the kids pieces, assuring Wanda that the phrase “slice the bird” did not of course refer to a _real_ bird.

The dinner itself was absolutely worth it, even after all of that insanity and the almost physical battle that he and Charles had had to fight though to make it. Jean Grey was really quite clever and didn’t seem to take Erik’s grumping here and there at face value. Her boyfriend was a little Captain America for Erik’s personal standards, but he seemed like a decent enough guy and complimented Erik’s hard-won victory over the yams, so he couldn’t be too terrible. Wanda loved both of them and chattered away cheerfully. Pietro loved Jean in particular, and shot shifty looks at Scott, which never failed to make Charles laugh into his food.

Charles was relaxed and content with this makeshift family, his exhausted contentment enough to envelop the environment in warm, soothing waves. Jean looked over at him with a smile at one point and reached out, settling her hand on his shoulder. “You’re projecting,” she murmured into his ear, and Charles looked at her, startled before seeming to regain control over himself. The warmth vanished, leaving Erik oddly cold in its absence.

“Thought the collar would stop that,” he murmured in surprise, and she chuckled.

“You’re dead on your feet, you don’t really have any shields,” she pointed out lightly, withdrawing her hand in order to take a bite of food. Erik frowned at her, surprisingly disliking the lack of the warmth. “Pietro, you want to split the wishbone with me?”

_Splitting the wishbone_ turned out to be an absolutely barbaric act in which they tore a bone from inside the turkey and then ripped it into two halves. Charles watched, openly disturbed, and Erik stared in simple horror. Tearing a bone out of a once-living creature and then breaking it into pieces to make a wish? That was horrific. Pietro got the bigger half, which was apparently ‘winning,’ and looked very proud of himself.

Charles’ final pie attempt turned out rather well, and the kids happily ate it and then collapsed in the living room to watch cartoons and nurse their swollen bellies. Jean offered to help Charles with the dishes, but by the time they turned around, they found him asleep on the table, his cheek pressed against his forearm. Jean smiled at him, expression softening.

“The professor always works too hard,” she noted, and the dishes began floating up off the table, cleaning themselves off in the trash and then beginning to wash themselves in the sink. She glanced at Erik, tilting her head in a fair imitation of Charles. “How’re you doing, Mr. Lensherr? A hell of a day, I’m sure.” Her eyes crinkled. “If you want to rest with the kids, I can take care of cleanup.”

“You sure?” He hesitated, looking down at Charles. “We shouldn’t leave him here to sleep like that. He’s not a cat, he’s going to get a terrible crick in his neck. I can take him upstairs. If you’re sure about cleaning up…”

“It’s fine.” Scott smiled from behind his red-lensed glasses. “It’s not a big deal. I’ll do the heavy scrubbing and Jean will take care of everything else.”

“It’s the least we can do,” Jean assured him. “He’s always so kind to invite me, I don’t mind cleaning up in return.”

“All right.” Erik looked down at Charles, then slowly picked him up, hefting him into his arms so he was resting against his chest, and carried him up the stairs carefully. Charles was so light, really- he needed to eat more, Erik decided critically. He should be eating more, and should be sleeping more. He was obviously stressed out. No wonder he’d passed out after eating all those carbs and working so hard. He didn’t even stir when Erik lifted him, too tired to wake even though he was being moved.

He hadn’t actually been in Charles’ room yet, though he obviously knew which room it was. He nudged the door open with his foot and looked around.

It was nearly as chaotic as his office, he realized in horror. Stacks of student papers were piled here and there, interspersed with stacks of books. There were no clothes on the floor-- his mess seemed to be limited to academia, but even _so,_ it was distinctly cluttered compared to the rest of the neat house. There were photos on the wall, most of them of Wanda and Pietro and a few of Charles and a blonde woman. One was of Charles and a blue mutant, both of them beaming at the camera, but she didn’t appear again elsewhere.

Erik looked around, interested in this part of Charles’ life that he didn’t know about. He could assume that the blue girl or the blonde was Raven, the sister that Erik hadn’t meant yet but had heard so much about. There were so many pictures of the kids.

He eyed the mess- he really _did_ need to teach Charles how to clean and tidy. Maybe if he bought him an organization system of some kind… Erik shook his head and carefully picked his way around the books and papers, gently putting Charles down on the bed and pulling the topsheet over him (because of _course_ he hadn’t made his bed. Jesus, had he been raised by wolves?) and making sure that there were no books or pencils or pens in the bed that would stab him.

Erik was almost to the door when he noticed the papers in the bin and reached down, taking them out at the sight of his own name. _Petition by Charles Francis Xavier to adopt Wanda Roma Maximoff and Pietro Remus Maximoff,_ it read, bearing a date of a few months prior. Erik and Magda’s name were both on the court documentation as well. The date for the first hearing was supposed to have been last week, he noted distantly as he studied it. Charles most certainly hadn’t gone-- they’d been at the zoo with the kids that afternoon. It must have been cancelled, since Erik had reappeared and had wanted his children. Foster parents couldn’t take permanent custody of the children in their care until the biological parents either gave away their rights or their rights were terminated.

Of course, Erik had known that Charles had been trying for adoption. It had been mentioned at some point, during the first few days, that the petition would have to be dropped. But knowing about it in the theoretical and actually _seeing_ Charles’ name paired with the children’s… it was strange.

Erik put it back in the trash where he’d found it, looking down at for a moment, then looked back at Charles, sleeping so peacefully and still covered with bits of food from their cooking adventure. Erik smiled a little and walked out, closing the door behind him quietly and tried to ignore the strange feeling of something that _almost_ felt like guilt in his chest.

* * *

“Daddy, you’re still here!” Wanda tackling Erik woke him quite effectively by leaping on him, and he raised his head to see Pietro doing laps, around both the room and it looked like perhaps the inside perimeter of the house.

“We’re going to a rally and _Dad’s coming!”_ He shouted as he flashed out of the room, and Erik could hear Charles’s laugh drift up the stairs.

“You’re going to run over the cat, Pietro,” he called after him as Erik’s son shot back inside the guest room and leapt to join Wanda on the bed, finally coming to a rest.

Erik laughed and wrapped his arms around his children as he sat up, hugging them tightly. “Hello,” he said, kissing their heads. “Your papa asked if I wanted to come and I said yes, of course. I want to be there for your first rally.” He stood, carrying them downstairs, and stood in the doorway, a child in each arm. “We are here for sustenance,” he said in a growly voice as the children squealed and laughed.

He paused as he took in the scene in front of him. Charles was, for once, dressed completely casually. He was in a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt, freckled arms bare of their usual layers. He was somewhat more toned than Erik had expected from such an academic. He looked as tired as ever, but seemed comfortable here, barefoot and casual in his kitchen. He glanced up at the family and grinned, turning to set two bowls of brightly-colored cereal on the table. “Sustenance is provided. Erik, there’s eggs in the fridge and cereal in the pantry. I’m terrible at eggs, downright awful.”

“He burns them,” Pietro whispered confidentially into Erik’s ear. “The house goes all smokey.”

Erik blinked again, shaking himself and trying to stop from staring. Jesus, he’d only seen the buttoned-up and academic Charles, not the comfortable, barefoot and T-shirt wearing Charles. While he actually sort of liked the professor’s normal look, this was an unbelievably good alternative, he admitted to himself, glancing at the toned and freckled arms. He didn’t struggle to think of Charles as attractive normally, but this was an entirely different look that he _wasn’t_ prepared for.

“Oh,” Erik said after a moment, focusing. “Yes, I can cook eggs, I’ll work on that.” He kissed the children and gently put them down, rooting around for pots and pans in the cabinet he had become very familiar with the day before. 

He felt completely off-balance, which was funny. He had been attracted to plenty of people in his life, had dated people, had one-night stands, all different kinds of relationships, and he had never felt as off his game as he did now, in a suburban kitchen with a pretty professor who dressed like an eighty year old man until apparently the day after Thanksgiving.

“Here,” Charles said, leaning up past him to grab a pan from the cabinet, pressed briefly against Erik’s back before he settled onto his feet and placed the pan into Erik’s hands. Erik almost dropped the cookware, startled, and Charles turned away to cross the room and settled a beanie, a baseball cap, and a pair of sunglasses on the table. “For the rally, so you’re not overly recognizable. Wouldn’t want you to be swarmed by a mob of fans or critics. Wanda, love, don’t just eat the marshmallows, eat the rest of the cereal, too.” He kissed her hair.

Erik stared at him for a moment, then focused on what he was doing, confused. Charles had of course touched him- casual touches when they brushed against each other, passing things together, when he had cleaned him up after the fight. But it was usually only when he had to touch him. Charles rarely touched him for no reason, and this was absolutely not necessary. So why had he touched him?

Not that Erik was complaining, of course.

“That’s probably a good idea, to wear stuff,” Erik agreed once he got his head back on straight. “Sunglasses and the baseball hat are fine, thank you.” He secretly wondered what Charles would look like in a beanie, his mind’s eye very vivid for the moment. Casual clothes and a beanie with curls sticking out? Good god.

“Papa, is Auntie gonna be there?” Pietro shoved a spoonful of cereal into his mouth and Charles shook his head with a smile.

“She has to work this week, but she said she’d video chat with you guys while you’re there.”

“Auntie?” Erik looked at Charles, glad for the distraction. “This sister I hear so much about?”

“Yeah. She works for MAD, so she travels a lot, but she loves the kids.” Charles leaned against the countertop, letting out a sigh as he picked up a mug and took a drink. “Her ideals aren’t too terribly far from yours, so you two should actually get along swell,” he added dryly, glancing at Erik.

Erik grinned a little. “What, she’s a mutant-rights fanatic too?” He pulled the eggs off the heat and put them in a bowl. “Here. Eggs.” He held them out to Charles.

“Ah. You’re a lifesaver.” He took them gratefully and sat to eat. “Not a _fanatic,_ per se, but she might be if she didn’t have me to talk sense into her.”

Erik was surprisingly disappointed. He had wondered for a moment if Charles would take the opportunity to touch him again, fingers brushing as he grabbed the bowl, bumping against him as he went to sit. 

Jesus, why did he care? Erik moved to kiss his children’s heads, taking a long drink of coffee and sitting at the other end of the table. “Well, at least they’ve had some of that. What are you guys most excited to see?” He gave them a smile.

“The balloons,” Wanda said immediately.

“The powers,” Pietro disagreed importantly.

“Is Jean gonna be there?” Wanda looked around at Erik, who shrugged and glanced at the telepath.

Charles chuckled. “Possibly with her own friends, but they won’t be there with us.”

Pietro looked deeply disappointed. “Is she gonna be with _Scott?”_ he asked, annoyed, and Erik looked at him.

“Is there a problem with Scott?” He kept a smile off his face, not having missed the way that Pietro had talked to Jean the day before.

“He’s dumb,” Pietro informed him, poking at his cereal. “Jean’s nicer than him.”

Erik hid a smile in his coffee. Pietro wouldn’t be the first person who had a crush on their pretty babysitter. “I see,” he said solemnly. “Well buddy, it’s important to know that usually, girls are nicer than the guys they date. And they usually date people we don’t like, anyway. Your sister is never going to date so it won’t be a problem.”

“Uh- _huh,”_ she disagreed immediately. “Ima get married and have a house and bunches of horses, Dad.”

“You can have the Westchester Estate,” Charles said absently, studying a text on his phone. “There are stables out back.”

Right, the estate that Erik had looked at, when he had first looked it up, and the estate that Charles _never_ lived in, for some reason. “You can live there and have horses and never date,” Erik agreed. “I think that sounds good to me.”

Wanda protested vehemently and Charles chuckled, glancing up at them with a warm sort of smile.

* * *

The rally had good numbers, Erik noted with pleasure. Mutants were crowded throughout the streets, chattering to each other, chanting, or yelling. Some of the signs contained extreme language or sayings, and Erik bemusedly found that he had to redirect the kids’ attention from them. He’d never had to pay attention to such things before. It had never bothered him in the slightest.

Charles had presented the kids with the tiny backpacks their aunt had given them, along with matching Mutant and Proud t-shirts, before leaving the house. He’d caught Erik’s eye and had chuckled, turning away before Erik could say anything about the origin of the phrase again. The kids were thrilled, and frequently pointed out signs that matched the slogans.

Wanda was enamored by the colors and excitement. She continuously tried to wander off to groups with other kids, and Charles was constantly redirecting her. Erik ended up having the unspoken assignment to watch Pietro, who left their side every few seconds to race forward and through the crowds eagerly. He’d return, babble a rapid report of what was up ahead, and then try to zip off again. Charles kept his smile throughout, but rubbed his temples so frequently that it was nearly constant.

Erik found himself enjoying this more than he would have expected. He loved watching his children laughing and talking to other mutants, loved watching them interact with each other and get excited about who and what they were. This was important. Having his children understand what they were, that they were mutants and there was nothing wrong with that, was the most important thing that he would ever do. They would never face what he and Charles had faced, would never fear their own gifts or be ashamed of what they could do.

In addition to that, he was also enjoying talking to Charles, helping parent with him, watching him watch the children.As he had since they had become more friendly, he actually _enjoyed_ coparenting with Charles. It was easy, shockingly natural to fall into that role with someone again.

They got the kids hotdogs from a stall and had settled them onto the grass to eat and watch the crowd when a mutant with starkly white skin and bubbling ripples across his arms stopped in front of them. “Wait.” He focused on Erik, frowning and lowering his sign, and Erik immediately reached for the metal that he could, disgusted that there was almost nothing he could do. He still had a black eye from the _last_ time someone recognized him.

“I’ve been asked three times,” he drawled in the thick Southern accent he’d been using all day. “And _no,_ I am _not_ Ryan Reynolds.”

Charles muffled his laugh behind his hand and turned earnest blue eyes on the pale mutant. “You’re mistaken,” he assured him softly, fingers brushing his own temple again. The mutant’s expression cleared and he straightened, offering them a quick smile.

“Sorry about that!” He said cheerfully. “I must have been mistaken.” He turned, collecting his hot dog from the vendor, and sauntered off. 

Erik focused on Wanda, playing with her headband and fixing the hair that had fallen out of her braid carefully. He hated the idea that someone here could recognize him, that someone could start something in front of his children. They would be terrified. Erik admitted to himself now the the sheer amount of danger he was probably putting them in, simply by being around and being recognizable as a terrorist.

Charles shook his head and brushed Pietro’s hair back gently, offering Erik’s son a smile. “I’ll get you a drink. Wanda, you want cherry coke?”

“Yeah.” She beamed, paddling her feet, and Charles nodded briefly to Erik as he quickly stood and crossed the street. Erik watched him go, grateful for him. He was a good man. He was always a good man.

He was gone for a few minutes, and then finally returned with three drinks. “I just guessed on yours,” he told Erik as he tossed him a Diet Coke. “Sorry, I should have asked what you’d prefer. You seem like the type to drink Diet.” He handed Wanda’s and Pietro’s drinks to them, kissing each head as he did.

The rest of the rally passed more or less uneventfully, but Erik didn’t allow himself to relax until he was in his hotel room. It was several hours before he connected the dots between Charles’ migraine and the way people had subtly seemed to change their minds when they’d looked at Erik too long. He suspected, although he couldn’t confirm, that Charles had been changing his face in their minds, or maybe distracting their attention away from him. But surely he wasn’t able to do that. He was collared. To be able to influence on that scale even while collared and muffled, Charles would have to be… astronomically powerful. He would have to be an Omega-class mutant, not an Alpha-class.

It was almost strange to sleep in the impersonal room again, now that he had stayed two nights with Charles and the kids. He didn’t have their laughter, their soft breathing, didn’t have the company that he knew was in the next room if he needed it. He couldn’t hear Charles’ pen scratching away quietly.

But of course, this too was normal. He shouldn’t get used to the other scenario. Charles wasn’t sticking around for any real length of time. That was a fact, was the plan, was the way it was all supposed to work out.

Why did that not sit right with him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't actually have much of anything to say, but it feels weird not to have a note down here! We love you all so much and are so glad you're enjoying the book! Comments are adored beyond measure!


	7. Charles is a F---ing Liar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik visits Charles on campus because he's a softie who misses him, and then he stays alone with the kids overnight.

Erik made it three days before he found himself on campus. The kids had been busy and the MAD agents had been chomping at the bit for information, not to mention the fact that his ‘anger management’ classes had started with Moira, so he’d only met the kids and Charles for brief dinners at restaurants. He missed them but, more disturbingly, he found himself missing… 

No. He shut the thought down. It wasn’t much use, considering that he’d walked all the way to campus and purchased food. He could hardly deny the fact that he was, uncomfortably and strangely, missing Charles’ company.

It was completely different than anything Erik had really known, in any relationship. Of course he had on occasion missed his mother or something, but on the whole, he had been incredibly self-sufficient. The twins, they made _sense_ for him to miss them. They were his children. They were part of who he was, a piece of him. But missing Charles? That threw him off in a way he never would have expected, and he hadn’t been able to stop himself from making the trip over here, praying that Charles wouldn’t make a big deal out of it, wouldn’t say that he was crazy or think he was strange.

“Erik.” Charles glanced up at him in surprise as Erik stepped into his office. “What are you doing here? Are the kids-” he started to stand and Erik held up a hand quickly.

“No, no. The kids are safe, everything’s fine.” Erik shook his head, feeling a little awkward. He should have called. “They’re probably causing havoc at school. I just wanted to come by and see how things were.” He held out a bag, his voice gruff with embarrassment and unsureness. “Grabbed lunch. I don’t like eating alone. You hungry?”

Charles blinked at him, then offered a brilliant smile. “You feel secure eating in my office? Despite the constant threat of being buried by an avalanche of books?”

God _damn_ that man was beautiful. Erik snorted to save face and put the sandwich in front of Charles, moving two piles _-two piles,_ said beautiful man was completely insane- as he sat across from him on the other side of the desk. “I guess,” he agreed reluctantly. “I can’t say that I am _thrilled_ at the idea, but I suppose if someone doesn’t come check on you here and there, how would we save you from said avalanche?”

Charles nearly glowed, beaming at him with far too much enthusiasm. Did it hurt to be so happy, Erik found himself wondering absently. To feel things so strongly that weren’t hate and vengeance? Nevertheless, it made Charles look less tired, so it was a welcome change. Charles continued speaking, unaware of Erik’s interest or thought process. “I appreciate that. In that scenario, however, I suppose I would call Kitty. She has the absolutely delightful ability to phase her way through matter, and I would imagine she could get me out.” He took the sandwich and laughed. “Though she probably wouldn’t appreciate being treated like a Bernese Mountain Dog.”

“She can phase through matter?” Erik raised an eyebrow, considering how useful such a power would be, then cleared his throat as Charles pointed his sandwich at him threateningly. “Theoretically speaking, of course, that’s a useful power. Not that I would ask her to help with anything. How is school?” He looked around at the chaos. “When you can machete your way out of your office, that is.”

“Oh, they’re all quite distraught.” He chuckled. “We only have about a week until finals. Actually, Kitty was just in here weeping openly about one of her assignments- apparently Professor Banner has been assigning absolutely brutal essays, and Professor Romanov hasn’t been giving them any feedback, just been marking viciously with red pen.” He grinned. “It’s quite funny, although I pity the students greatly. I’d talk to Natasha or Bruce, but they enjoy this time of year far too much for me to take it away from them. So I just coach the students through their anxiety attacks and give them study tips.”

Erik laughed. “Yes, I can see why the students would come to you.” He was so comforting and sweet, in his oversized sweaters and big eyes and freckles and curls, smelling like tea and books and warmth. “I’ve seen you teach,” he continued. “I imagine you grade similarly.”

“The implication is that I grade generously.” Charles chuckled as he took a sip of tea from one of his mugs. “I give credit where it’s due, and give opportunities to make up for lost points, yes. Particularly with my undergraduates. If they’re just reciting facts to me, they may as well be machines. If I wanted perfect answers, I would use Google or an encyclopedia, and so would they. Retention and learning, however, takes a student. And to be a student, one must actually learn something and work at it. My fail rate is, thus, quite low.”

Erik smiled at the idea. “I would learn a lot better from you, if you’d have taught me,” he said thoughtfully. “Eat, Charles, I didn’t come here to watch you grade. Your sandwich will get cold. Do you ever teach lower grades, or just the older ones?”

“I’ve had years where I teach graduate students,” the professor agreed, unwrapping his sandwich. “Not this semester, unfortunately. I do enjoy them. They have a passion for the work they’re doing and are there because it’s their field, rather than an intro or preliminary class they need for a different major. But there’s something about the undergraduates. Bright and uncertain, standing on their own legs for the first time, unsure of their path. It feels an awful lot like hope.” He smiled, eyes warming. “And you can watch them learn and decide where they want to go throughout the semester or year. It’s extremely endearing.” He took a bite, chewed, and swallowed, then, “Of course, my favorite class is my Introduction to X-Gene studies, which is a complete gen-ed, but that’s because I’m biased on the topic.”

Erik couldn’t stop the smile that crossed his face. “You are ridiculously optimistic,” he said. “It’s very cute. I’m glad you enjoy your job- there are a lot of people who don’t. I wouldn’t have minded taking classes like yours, when I was younger. I never went to college, but I would have liked it.”

“It’s not too late,” Charles reminded him mildly, tilting his head with a small smile. “Depending on what you want to do with your newfound freedom, you could attend school again. Of course, with your ability there are plenty of self-employment things you could do without ever needing a degree, but if you wanted to go just to learn, you could. I certainly didn’t need my second master’s-- I just wanted to learn more.” He shrugged.

Erik considered as he chewed his sandwich. He hadn’t actually considered going to college, but Charles was right- you could go just to learn. “I’ll think about it,” he agreed. “It wouldn’t be the worst thing to get a degree, just for shits and giggles. Maybe I’ll get it in philosophy and scare all the little Aristotles.”

“Oh, lord.” Charles laughed. “The idea of you in philosophy is quite concerning. All the professors would assume you were playing devil’s advocate all the time, but it would always be just your actual opinions.”

Erik grinned. “Yes, I honestly think that may be my path in life. Just riling up academics every day, all day long.” He met Charles’ eyes. He would like specifically to rile up _this_ academic. Charles was either gorgeous or scary when he was angry, but when he was _irritated,_ he was the cutest thing that Erik had ever seen.

Charles searched his face, eyes crinkling a little. “I can’t tell what you’re thinking,” he admitted, and Erik felt a small flicker of amused gratitude at that. “But you’re happy. I’m glad.” He took another bite of his sandwich, then chewed more slowly, his smile fading as he swallowed. Erik’s stomach flipped over, and Charles cleared his throat. “So I was thinking, and wanted to see if you’d like to stay with the kids for the night by yourself. I can stay with a friend.”

“By myself?” Erik played with his sandwich wrapper. Of course, they should eventually start preparing the children for Charles to not be there. “That would be all right, I guess. I wouldn’t mind watching them overnight. Are you actually going to sleep, though?” he asked critically. “With them not being wherever you are? You struggle enough as it is.”

“Sure,” Charles agreed mildly and with absolutely no attempt at being convincing. “Absolutely. I’ll sleep like the dead. Scout’s honor and all that. I’ll have to come home with you to pack a bag, but then I’ll be out of your hair.”

Erik considered this. “I guess,” he said, nervous now, at the idea of watching them alone. “That’s not a bad idea. We should see how things go, at some point. We can do a little test run.”

Charles chuckled. “Don’t look so worried. They go to bed and behave fine for Jean and I, so I can’t imagine they’d give you too much trouble. I’ll explain why I’m going and that you’ll be watching them so that you don’t have to be the bad guy.”

Erik nodded, relaxing slightly. “Okay,” he agreed, taking a deep breath. “You’re sure about this? You want to trust this is going to work?”

“You’re not a threat to them.” He shrugged simply. “I trust that. They need to start adjusting to their new future. It’s time.” He shook his head a little, clearly aiming to banish the sad tinge to his voice. “You’ll have a great time,” he promised more brightly, and the painful guilt that had been biting at Erik for the past week or so bit a little harder.

* * *

_Charles is a fucking liar,_ Erik found himself thinking in horror hours later. Shaving cream and glitter was smeared across the walls, the cat had been forced into a pink dress, and there were spaghetti noodles stuck to _everything._ Pietro was cheerfully racing in and out of the house at random in constant orbit, while Wanda had taken it upon herself to paint Erik’s fingernails a fluorescent purple.

And it was two hours past their bedtime.

 _SOS_ Erik texted Charles with one hand. _These children are monsters help me_

_**CX:** Terribly sorry, but I’m under strict instructions to be asleep right now,_ he replied almost immediately. Erik could almost imagine his laughter. Wanda got up and ran to chase the cat, screeching cheerfully as red light rattled all the paintings on the walls.

Erik stared after her. _Okay,_ he texted. _I will grant you one favor, to be called in at any time. Help me get them in bed and I’ll clean everything else._

 _ **CX:** What do you mean, everything else?_ Erik could almost _see_ the judgemental frown.

Erik looked around the house slowly, then, _Nevermind, I’ve got this, thank you anyway._ He winced and chased after Wanda, grabbing Pietro as he went. “Put the cat down!” he yelled. “She’s already traumatized by the dress!”

“No, she needs to swim!” She shouted it after him, sprinting in the opposite direction. She managed to evade him for another five minutes, and then the front door opened. There was silence for a moment, Pietro hanging from one of the planets on the ceiling and Wanda perched on top of the bookcase. Erik grabbed Wanda, reaching out for Pietro as he listened carefully.

“Kids!” Charles called firmly. “Downstairs, _now!”_

Wanda scampered back down Erik quickly and Pietro kicked his legs, swinging back and forth until Erik caught him. Erik put him down carefully. “Go downstairs,” he said, looking around nervously and following after a moment. Charles was going to be disappointed in him, was going to _know_ that he was a terrible father, when he saw the state of this house.

He hesitated at the bottom of the stairs, then headed into the living room, where the kids and Charles were. Charles was looking down at them, a hand pressed over his mouth. He looked up at the ceiling for a long moment, then cleared his throat.

“Wanda. What time is it?”

She glanced around at the clock and hesitated. “It’s… ten-thirty?”

“Good. And Pietro, what time is your bedtime?” He focused on the boy and Pietro shifted on his feet nervously.

“Uh. Eight.”

“Good, very good.” He rested his hands on his hips, raising his eyebrows at them. “So why are you up?”

The twins exchanged a look quickly, nervously. “Dad gave us candy,” Pietro said finally, throwing Erik mercilessly in the line of fire. Charles arched an eyebrow at Erik, who stared at his son in horror.

“At six,” Erik protested. “It’s been four hours!”

“You need to respect your father,” Charles informed them seriously. “Have you taken baths yet?” They exchanged another look and Charles pointed up the stairs. “Go. Now. We will be in to tuck you in, but you’ll wake up first thing in the morning and you’re going to clean all this mess up.”

They protested vehemently, but eventually quieted down and stomped sulkily up the stairs. Charles watched them go, hard expression slowly cracking, morphing as he started to laugh once he was sure they were out of earshot.

“Don’t worry about it.” He clapped Erik’s shoulder as he passed to pick up the cat, pulling the dress off carefully. “The first time is always rough. You’ll be better tomorrow.”

Erik looked around, embarrassed. “I’ll make sure the house is clean before I go,” he assured him. “I won’t let it look like this, I’m sorry. I just… there’s _two_ of them. And Wanda doesn’t even have to touch anything to get into it, and Pietro was running circles around the house…” He sank into a chair. “Thank you, Charles. I’m sorry about your house.” he paused, then looked up. “What are you talking about, tomorrow?”

The other man shrugged, crossing to set the cat up on top of a shelf. “Don’t worry about the house. It’s just a house and all of it can be fixed. You should have seen the damage they did in the first few weeks they were here-- comparatively, this is nothing. You’re new to watching them on your own. You haven’t even been able to be around them in forever. Don’t be too hard on yourself about it.” He leaned down, picking up pillows and returning them to the couch where they belonged.

Erik slowly started helping, thinking hard about the quiet change in Charles’ attitude, in the way he had worded things. “Charles, are you coming back tomorrow?” He watched his hands as he started putting things back together.

Charles was quiet for a moment, then took a deep breath. “Just for dinner, probably,” he said quietly. “It seems the best decision.”

“Charles.” Erik stared at him. “You’re just… moving out? This is _your_ house. The likelihood that I’m going to make it, that once the Brotherhood decides I’m a problem that I will see their next birthday, is incredibly unlikely. They need you here! I appreciate you trying to help me, to give me time with them, but you don’t have to _leave.”_

“It’s not my house, it’s their house,” he disagreed frankly. “I’m only in it for them. What cause would _I_ have to have a house? I only rented it out when I heard that I was going to be taking them in. As for the Brotherhood… I wouldn’t worry too terribly about that, were I you. They have never been as untouchable as they think they are. You turning sides and handing information over has only helped that.” He shook his head. “They’ll all be dead or imprisoned by the twins’ next birthday, mark my words. MAD is highly competent and has been working covertly toward them for years. They’re just waiting for the right moment.”

“And what if you’re wrong?” Erik turned on him. “What if you’re wrong and something happens? No. You need to stay here, with them, until things are settling. They love you. They don’t want you to vanish, they’re very upset thinking about you gone. Don’t leave tomorrow. It’s too soon for them.”

“And what, it will magically get easier in a month? Two? When they think that we have some- some happy little family together?!” He turned to face Erik, hands curling into fists. “They don’t understand that it’s not like that. They never will. They see us together and getting along and think that they can keep us, that everything will just stay good and normal forever. But it won’t, because it can’t, because they aren’t my children and you aren’t my husband. It’s a _goddamn illusion_ and it’s only going to break their hearts and mine, and that’s not fair. Prolonging this shit won’t help them at all, and you’re smart enough to know that, you’re just scared of what comes next and having to do this on your own. But you’re more than strong enough and you love them more than enough, and that’s all it takes. So don’t you dare be a coward when they need you to be brave.”

Erik gritted his teeth, looking away, clenching his own fists. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to do it on his own. He was more than capable of taking care of these children on his own. It was about Charles. Charles, who loved them so dearly, who gave the twins his heart and soul, who had braved Thanksgiving for them, who had gone camping with a terrorist to try and make sure they were safe. Charles, who was beautiful and kind and brilliant and made Erik’s head and chest hurt. Charles, who was hiding how much losing the twins was breaking him. 

Erik didn’t want to give up his children, but he had come to the uncertain but very real conclusion in the past few days that he didn’t want to take them from Charles, either. “It’s not cowardice,” Erik said finally, and found that he couldn’t meet Charles’s eyes. 

It hit him suddenly that this probably meant he wouldn’t see Charles anymore, not really. They wouldn’t talk after dinner, wouldn’t play chess after the children were asleep. He wouldn’t visit him on campus or cook for them, wouldn’t be there during holidays and celebrations. Maybe he would, some, but Charles wouldn’t want to be there always, just because it would hurt to watch them building a life with Erik when he couldn’t really be a part of it. Helpless fury battered at Erik as he thought about this, about trying to explain this to the kids.

“I’m not going to leave you to explain it to them,” Charles said, picking up on the thought, his tone gentling. Erik felt a flash of something like anger and regret and sadness all rolled into one- of course that was the only thought he’d lifted. “Of course I won’t do that. And I won’t just vanish. I’ll come around for dinners, and then… and then just wean off.” There was an edge of pain to that, but when Erik turned his head to look at him, Charles was cleaning again, face calm. “They’ll understand everything that’s happening. You’ll still have Jean to help, and you’ll build a life with them. It will work out fine for all of you.”

“I’m sorry, Charles.” Erik watched him, his chest aching. “You did nothing but love them and take care of them, and then I show up and it’s just over. I’m not exactly an ideal candidate for a father, either.”

“Oh, shove it.” Charles rolled his eyes, casting a glance over his shoulder. “What would you _not_ do for those children?” His eyes crinkled slightly, reading the answer either from Erik’s expression or his thoughts, and he turned to continue folding a blanket. “Exactly. If you love them, and you want the best for them, and you would never let harm befall them, then you are the perfect candidate. Even if that’s detrimental to my own wishes.” He laughed. “Believe me, I wish you were just a terrorist who couldn’t care less, who wanted them back for some nefarious purpose. If you weren’t the father that they needed, I would have this collar off in minutes and you would never see them again. Trust in my judgement, even if you don’t trust in your own.”

The ground shifted under Erik’s feet and he looked back at the little professor, in his sweater and academic clothes, self-contained and fiercely protective and beautiful, all the things that were good in the world, everything that Erik had never been able to achieve, and Erik was unable to even speak for a moment.

How could a parent like him, someone who was endlessly good and patient and well-suited to raising children, think that Erik actually deserved the twins? Standing in the middle of Charles’ destroyed house, after his epic failure being a single parent, how could Charles still think he deserved them or could do this?

“There is good in you, Erik.” Charles offered him a crooked smile, setting the blanket on the back of the couch. “I may not have even a quarter of my normal power, but I can see that much. Your ideals are, quite frankly, insane. You go to immense extremes to pursue what you believe in, and you’ve got rather stunning anger issues. But you don’t put that anger on the kids, you work to sublimate all of it to be what they need. There is goodness in you, and I’ve seen it. You just have to look and see it as well.” He nodded to the stairs. “Wanda just got out. Go tuck her in, assure them that they’re forgiven and loved.”

Erik took a deep breath, looking away, at the dinner table. “I’ll be back down to finish cleaning,” he said awkwardly, and headed up the stairs.

When was the last time anyone had believed that there was _good_ in Erik Lensherr?

Wanda and Pietro were both terrified that Charles, Erik, or both were angry with them. He assured them that while they weren’t _happy,_ exactly, they also weren’t angry at the kids. They understood that the twins were excited to have Erik over, and they had just gotten carried away. He did assert, however, that they needed to follow bedtimes and not scare the cat.

He promised that he wasn’t really angry anymore and kissed them, talking quietly to them until they were tired enough to sleep. When he got back downstairs, the house looked impossibly neater, various small things picked up off the floor and most of the shaving cream wiped off the walls. Charles had pulled on his coat again, but hadn’t yet left. He glanced up at Erik and offered a smile. “You beat yet?” he asked with a nearly-convincing veneer of cheer. “Don’t worry, good chap, you’ll get used to it. They’re honestly just excited to have you home.” He turned, pulling a scarf off the hook at the wall.

“You going?” Erik nodded a little, ashamed at the way that he wanted to ask him to stay, that he wanted to keep him here. Charles had his own life to pursue, his own interests. Maybe Charles wanted to date and hadn’t been able to, with two children. Maybe he had research or something he wanted to do and couldn’t. Erik knew that probably wasn’t true, but it helped him, a little, to think that. “Okay, have a good night. Thank you for coming. I owe you.”

“No, you don’t.” Charles smiled slightly as he tied off his scarf. “Any time they need anything, you can call me. You should know that.”

“Yeah.” Erik nodded and put his hands in his pockets, filled with the urge to keep Charles talking. “Whenever you want to come over or stay, do. I mean it’s your house. The kids love you, and you’re not that bad. We can play chess or something whenever you want.”

Erik hated what was happening. He hated letting Charles walk out the door, hated that he was upset, hated that _he_ was upset that Charles was upset. Hated that the kids were going to be upset. Erik was not the kind of person who ever knew how to communicate what he thought or felt, and honestly, he himself didn’t know how he felt right now, other than he didn’t want Charles to leave, and he didn’t want the kids to hurt. Those were the only two things he knew for sure, the only two things that made perfect sense in the world.

Charles turned to go and Erik reached out impulsively, catching his sleeve. “Stay,” he said, meeting Charles’ surprised eyes. “Just… give me a week. Maybe, if you’re all right with it, I can stay here for that time. Give me a week to get used to it and then maybe you can tell them you’re going on a trip or something, we can figure something out, an excuse. Just stay a little longer. Let them get used to living with me, with you there as a safety. They’re too young to change everything so fast, so completely. It’s too much all at once, especially after their mother died. They can’t have one of their guardians just vanish.”

Charles hesitated and didn’t pull away. He searched Erik’s face for a moment, then nodded. “All right,” he agreed simply, softly. “If that’s what you need.”

Erik relaxed. He didn’t know what would happen now, but he knew he didn’t want Charles to leave, and he had gotten that much. “I know it’s not fair to you,” he agreed. “I know, I’m sorry. Just… just give me a week.”

Charles nodded, turning his hand to catch and squeeze Erik’s. “I can do a week,” he agreed, then released him. “Go to bed. You look about ready to fall over, Erik.”

Erik gave a weak laugh. “As if you are one to lecture me on sleeping,” he informed him, running a hand through his hair. He did in fact feel exhausted, like he had run a marathon, even though all he’d done was pick up the kids from school, feed them, and chase them around the house for a few hours. Being a parent was hard enough, but being a single parent was exhausting. “But thank you. I appreciate it.”

Charles looked up at him for a moment, tilting his head, then stepped closer, reached out, and wrapped his arms around him. For a moment, Erik was too stunned and startled to move, the slim arms around him keeping him in place more firmly than chains or sedatives ever could.

He and Magda had been more a fling than anything, one that had been perpetuated into several small flings by her pregnancy and raising the children. Overall, they had merely been coparents and barely even that, unable to be much more with Erik’s dedication to the Brotherhood, emotional issues with commitment, their constant arguing, and her own misgivings about him in general. Before Magda, the only concrete relationships in his life were Azazel, who never touched him or anyone else if he could help it, and his mother, who had died when he was still a teenager.

He couldn’t even begin to name the last time he had been hugged by someone who wasn’t his child or his mother. He wasn’t sure if he ever had.

“It’s going to be all right, Erik.” Charles’ voice was soft and soothing by his ear. “You can do this. It’s going to be fine.” He pulled back, meeting Erik’s eyes with a smile, and then vanished up the stairs to his bedroom, leaving Erik alone and adrift in the middle of the living room.

Erik felt a strange sort of anxiety about the timeline he had imposed on them, a desire to go upstairs and get another hug. He’d never understood the need to be held. But now… yes, he could understand the comfort it could give, and he desperately wanted more.

How the hell was he supposed to stop wanting Charles?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We vaguely exist over in the Tumblr-verse if you ever want to say hello! @goosenik and @Clarkestetler. (Ps- to whoever is my super-sweet anon who said they were excited for this update: thank you so much!! I wasn't going to post this until the afternoon, but I'm a sucker for y'all and so I'm posting it now. Lol.)
> 
> Also also- we just started posting a Steve-Bucky fic, if any of y'all like Avengers. It's a college AU with heavy doses of fluff, because life is stressful and I just. can't. do it. So we whipped up some fluff to focus on instead. Take a look at it if you feel the inclination! If you're just Cherik fans, no fear. We're working extensively on a new fic with them in it right now.
> 
> Third (and final) also: Thank you so much for your comments. Seriously. I love the sense of community there is in this fandom and in the comments section. I love connecting to you guys, I love writing for you and interacting with you. It's so much fun to be able to connect like this, and I just appreciate so much both my regular commenters and my new ones. Sometimes it takes me well over half an hour to sit and answer every single comment and I regret nothing, it's a great way to spend my time. Love love love you all.


	8. I'd Ask the World to Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda has testing, Erik has the cutest moment of domesticity, and Charles gets drunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the next one are my favorites in terms of fluffy cuteness and I have been waiting FOR SO LONG to finally get here and show them to you. So excited.

“So how much do you actually _catch?”_ Hank asked Charles in interest while the three watched Wanda try to make towers out of Jenga blocks with only her power. “I know before, you tried not to go further than passing thoughts, but with the collar…”

“It varies,” Charles said, holding still and watching Wanda in amusement as Hank studied the collar’s design. “On how loud the mind is, how loud the thought is, how hard I’m looking, how fatigued I am. I can catch things right before they’re said more easily than anything else, simply because people tend to broadcast their thoughts for a split second there pretty loudly…”

“That’s interesting.” Erik watched him. He had been wondering for a while how much Charles was aware of with the collar on. He didn’t seem to catch Erik’s thoughts often. “Who is loudest? Is there someone you can’t help but hear even now?”

“Jean,” he agreed easily, “But I rather think she does it intentionally at the moment to try to give me a semblance of normalcy. Wanda and Pietro are easy- they’re children, they haven’t developed shields, they love and hate loudly as all kids do. It may also be because they’re yours, Erik. Your mind remains one of the most brilliant things I’ve ever seen.” He caught sight of his expression and laughed. “ _Pre_ -collar,” he assured him, clearly misinterpreting what the metallokinetic had been thinking. “You’re so blanketed by my collar and your own that I only catch stray thoughts here and there, and only when I’m looking.” 

The most brilliant thing he had ever seen. Erik smiled a little, pleased at this compliment. Charles thought he had the most brilliant mind he had ever seen? “So when I project at you, you hear?”

Charles nodded. “Yes. You’re still clearer than most of the others.”

“It’s surprisingly good workmanship,” Hank noted, sitting back. “It makes sense. I mean, they’re hardly going to put some off brand crap on mutants of your classes.” He gestured between them, amused. _Classes?_ Erik frowned a little and Hank continued. “I do wonder if there’s a genetic component to the strength between the twins and yourself, Lensherr.”

“I assume so.” Erik shrugged, then, “Classes? We’re both Alpha.”

Hank glanced briefly at Charles, opening his mouth in clear dismay, and Charles snorted. “Don’t look at me now, you’re the one who dug the hole.”

“I’m so sorry,” Hank muttered to him in an aside, then glanced at Erik. Erik felt a small thrill of amusement- Hank was still nervous whenever he had to really talk to the metallokinetic. “Charles was classified as an Alpha, yes. He was also last tested when he was sixteen.”

“Okay.” Erik crossed his arms over his chest. “And?”

Hank laughed. “And he manifested when he was like _two._ Power like that doesn’t stop. Children who manifest young still get a massive power spurt when they hit their growth spurts. Like puberty, for example. Charles was what, Sigma level as a kid?” He glanced at Charles, who shrugged and nodded. “And then he was an Alpha after his first major growth spurt at puberty. But that was at sixteen, and men have a second growth spurt in their late teenage years. There’s no way in hell he’s still an Alpha, not when he manifested that young. I’ve never seen anyone who can do what he can.”

“Flatterer,” Charles muttered in idle amusement, lips twitching. “Do you know that you get very verbose when you’re nervous, Henry?”

Erik eyed the boy, dislike stirring in his stomach. He knew at this point that Charles was at least gay; was he with Hank? Two academics together, they’d never get anything done. “I’m well aware that power continues growing,” he informed him. “I wasn’t aware of the last time he was tested. What are you now, then? Omega?”

They exchanged another glance, and Charles hesitated somewhat this time. “We don’t… entirely know,” he admitted, rather than allowing Hank to continue explaining. “Hank offered me some testing once, but it didn’t fully…” he waved a hand.

“It didn’t fit on the charts,” Hank said flatly, rolling his eyes. “Don’t pretend to be modest, Charles.”

“It’s not modesty,” he pointed out with some amusement. “He hates telepaths, Hank.”

Hank paused, staring at his friend in mute horror, apparently aware of just how much of a telepath he’d revealed Charles to be. “Well,” he said awkwardly, finally. “Um. The machinery may have malfunctioned, and, ah… Oh, Wanda’s done with her tower.” He stood quickly and rapidly hurried over to the little girl, clearly glad to have an escape.

Erik watched Hank talk to Wanda. He had, in the past, hated telepaths. There were still many telepaths that he didn’t like, many he would allow terrible things to happen to because of their tendency to hurt and manipulate people.

But Charles was not one of them.

“I don’t hate you,” he told Charles quietly. “I’ve had bad experiences with telepaths in my life, but you’re not like them. People are comfortable with you, they trust you. I’ve been watching you and the way people interact with you, the way you treat people. They’re not overcautious, which makes me think that you are always conscious of other people’s privacy. I’m used to telepaths who manipulate and control people. I haven’t noticed you trying to manipulate anyone, and no one is afraid of you.”

“You can’t prove I didn’t manipulate them to be that way in the first place.” Charles grinned at him, then, “I’m glad you don’t hate me. I doubt I’d be alive if you did, but even so. I like you rather well. But there isn’t a ‘them’ when it comes to telepaths, Erik. Psionics can’t choose what gift they manifest any more than you could, I can’t resist hearing thoughts any more than you could resist making metal hum. You need to find a way to make peace with that.” He focused on Wanda and grinned, ignoring Erik’s startle and surprised smile. “Look at her tower, it’s so cute. Someday she’ll even be able to build little houses. Maybe even _real_ houses!”

“She could,” Erik agreed, deciding to ponder the issue of his bias at another time. “We don’t know what her limit could be, she could do anything she wanted. We have to make sure she channels that in a way that will keep her safe.” He grinned as Wanda looked at them. “She’s getting so good at control. At being precise.”

“She’s flourishing with your praise as motivation,” he agreed warmly. “Go ahead and finish up with her, I’m going to go pick Pietro up. I’ll see you at the house.” He caught his shoulder and squeezed it, then kissed Wanda’s hair. “I’m going to pick up your brother, sunflower. Be good for Hank and your dad.”

“Okay!” She beamed at him and his eyes crinkled as he sank to a crouch.

“How much are you loved?”

“More than the stars,” she chirped, and he tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Good girl. Pietro and I will see you and your dad after you’re done.” He kissed her forehead and headed out, offering Erik a smile as he passed him, and Erik felt himself smile back, unable to stop himself.

When Charles really smiled, Erik’s stomach flipped over.

Hank glanced after him, then at Erik. He opened his mouth, shut it, and dismantled Wanda’s house. “Let’s see that again,” he told her encouragingly, and Erik leaned forward to watch her.

* * *

“You did _such_ a good job,” he said with a grin, leading Wanda up toward the house. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Really?” She brightened, beaming up at him. “I can do _more,_ but Papa said I shouldn’t do the neur- the… um. The mind stuff until he gets his collar off, so that he can help.” She swung their arms together. “But I like lifting things!”

“Yeah?” Erik gave her a warm smile. “Well, when you’re older and he’s doing better, he can help you with the rest.”

“Cool.” She bounced up to the door, opening it, then giggled. Erik stopped behind her to look in as music swelled toward them, and found Charles dancing in the living room with Pietro to what immediately revealed itself to be _Dancing with Myself_ by Billy Idol. Pietro was laughing and moving at a normal speed, face flushed and happy as Charles twirled him and danced him back and forth, scooping him up at times and resting his feet on the back of the couch at others.

Erik had only been struck completely speechless a very small handful of times. But watching his son dance with Charles Xavier as Wanda ran forward to dance with them was definitely one of those important moments where he was completely unsure what he even _could_ say. Magda had always been tense around him after the twins were born, seeing as Erik’s violent activities had risen in frequency and intensity both. He had never been able to experience the warm, happy, fulfilling co-parenting that he had witnessed among others, until he had met Charles. Was this what it was like to have a family? To have a partner who loved being silly with your children and was comfortable enough to be that way around you?

Was this what it was like to realize that you were dangerously close to falling in love with someone?

“Hello, sunflower,” Charles greeted Wanda with a laugh, slowing to catch one of her hands and twirl her as well. He glanced up at Erik, face flushing faintly pink in embarrassment at being caught dancing, but he didn’t stop as he picked the little girl up and dipped her back deeply. She let out a peal of bright laughter, gripping his shirt in her hands for balance, and he kissed her cheek as he straightened with her again.

“Hi, Papa,” she giggled, wrapping her arms around his neck and cuddling close against his chest. Pietro hopped down and ran to get a knuckle-bump from Erik. He had recently learned this skill at school and insisted on utilizing it at least three times a day.

“Hi, Dad,” he said brightly. “Did Wanda do good with her testing? Papa timed me and he said that I went my fastest _ever_ so we danced to celebrate.”

“Wanda did very well with her testing.” Erik kissed his hair. He was always grateful that with the twins, there was no jealousy from Pietro about Wanda’s power and the fact that she got extra attention. “I’m very proud of you going so fast- I’m glad you guys celebrated. You and your papa dance beautifully.” He felt something in his chest almost give way as he watched Charles dance with Wanda, Pietro running around them.

Is this what it would be like to have a family with him?

Charles pressed a kiss against Wanda’s hair and set her down. “Go and get cleaned up,” he told her affectionately. “And Pietro, you too. We’re going out for dinner, so put something on that’s not soaked in mud.” He fluffed the boy’s hair and Pietro vanished, shooting up the stairs in a blur. Charles paused a moment, frowning slightly, then laughed. “And not sweatpants!” He called up the stairs after him.

Wanda laughed. “I’ll get him, Papa. Where’re we going for food?”

“IHOP. I know you’ve been pancake-hungry.” He winked at her and she lit up, dashing up the stairs as quickly as she could. Charles grinned up the stairs after them, then turned his head to smile at Erik, killing the music with a quick press of a button. “Sorry about that,” he said, giving a small laugh as he rubbed the back of his neck. “About your eyes, that is. I know I’m an absolutely appalling dancer, but Pietro’s so cute when he gets happy and dances like that.”

“No, don’t apologize.” Erik grinned at him, leaning back against the wall. Apologizing was the absolute last thing Charles needed to do. “You know, you’re pretty cute yourself when you’re embarrassed.” He paused, realizing how obvious that had been, then gave a smile. While he hadn’t exactly meant to outwardly flirt, it was fine. He had never seen anything quite like Charles dancing with Erik’s children.

The faint pink flush deepened exponentially, brightening under Charles’ freckles and warming his face, and he looked like he was fighting a smile as he looked away. “That’s an utterly ridiculous concept,” he informed Erik. “No one is… cute when they’re embarrassed.” He cleared his throat. “Which I’m _not,_ necessarily, by the way. I have five diplomas, I don’t get embarrassed.”

My _god,_ but Charles was actually, genuinely adorable when he was embarrassed. Erik felt his grin widen, trying to push away the wonder about exactly how far the flush went. “Most people aren’t,” Erik agreed, tilting his head. “But you are, somehow. I’m very impressed with all of your diplomas. I realized yesterday that I should actually be calling you _Dr. Xavier,_ not Mr. Xavier.” Although he mostly only talked about him to the kids… and he’d called Charles Papa a few moments ago, when talking to Pietro. “So how fast did Pietro go, by the way? He told me that was the cause of the dancing.”

“He’s up to sixty miles an hour now.” Charles almost glowed with pride, his embarrassment forgotten for a moment. “That’s ten more than he was at the last time I timed him. He must be in the middle of a growth spurt. As for the title, don’t worry about it. Raven tells me all the time that my doctorate is wasted since no one ever calls me by my official title.” He chuckled. “Even the students just end up calling me ‘professor.’ Jean says it’s the accent and the elbow patches.”

“Probably.” Erik snorted and moved forward, picking up the children’s backpacks and putting them back on the rack hangers where they belonged. “You moved over here when? How old were you?”

“I moved after finishing my PhD. I have dual citizenship, and Raven had accepted a position with MAD ages ago, so it seemed reasonable.” He looked around for something, bemused by its absence. “I was twenty-five when I moved back, so I’ve been here for about the last five years.”

“I figured it wasn’t too long,” Erik agreed. “Your accent is too thick to have been here for a long time. We came here when I was thirteen- my friend in the Brotherhood made fun of me for being a fake German all the time because I don’t have an accent when I speak, mostly.”

“Oh, but your accent is so lovely.” Charles sighed happily at the thought, shaking his head as he retrieved his scarf from under a pillow. “It’s so rich and thick and warm. You have it in your thoughts,” he added by way of explanation. “Your accent is very strong in your mind.”

“That’s interesting.” Erik considered this new idea, enjoying the fact that Charles thought his accent was _lovely._ “So people have accents in their minds that they don’t have physically… that’s interesting. I had no idea.”

“Oh, it’s actually quite fascinating,” Charles agreed enthusiastically as he wound his scarf around his neck. “Our mental selves are far more than our physical selves, they’re composites of everything we’ve seen and done and experienced and dreamt of. Your accent, for example, is likely because those who meant the most to you for the majority of your life had accents. Your parents, for example. There’s still a large part of you that, deep down, can’t let go of the feeling of being fresh from Germany in a strange land where everyone speaks in tones a little too flat. Your mind remembers that, even if you’ve consciously moved on and past it and the loss of your parents. You still identify as German, so your mind latches on to the accent in its memory, to the way your people speak and sound…” He frowned at his lopsided scarf, having tied it wrong in the midst of his passionate babbling, and began redoing it. “Everyone has it to a degree,” he added.

Erik watched him, smiling a little. “No wonder that your classes are always full,” he said thoughtfully, and Charles looked around at him in surprise. “It’s important to have a teacher who is passionate. It makes a huge difference to the way that students learn. You said your favorite is your gen-ed class?”

Charles smiled. “Yes,” he admitted easily. “As I’m sure you’ve guessed, it fits well with my activist roots and goals. Minimizing ignorance, creating understanding and connection between the two species. I know, I know, utter hogwash and all that.” He chuckled as he pulled his coat off the hook. “One of my masters degrees is more research-based, which is why I spend time with Hank in the labs. He’s more of an engineer, so it complements well to my bio and genetics background.”

Erik snorted and caught Wanda as she ran down the stairs. “It _is_ hogwash,” he informed him. “But your optimism is maybe slightly more endearing than I used to find it. I suppose I don’t want the children to be quite as jaded as I am.”

Charles simply smiled in response to this, shaking his head cheerfully. He had to send Pietro up for different pants ( _pajama pants are the same as sweatpants_ ) and then they were able to leave for dinner. 

* * *

“Hello?” Erik picked up the phone, pointing at Wanda and catching the back of Pietro’s shirt. “Wanda, _no._ Put the cat down and get in bed. Pietro, go brush your teeth. Can I help you, person calling my phone?”

“Hi.” Hank McCoy sounded _deeply_ nervous, and there was vague crashing in the background. Erik paused, frowning slowly. Charles had stayed late to help him with a research project. “Um. Is this Erik Lensherr?”

“It is. What’s going on? _Wanda,_ get in bed!” he pointed at her and she giggled and dove into her bed. Erik smiled and caught the back of Pietro’s shirt as he tried to sneak downstairs. “No, P. Get in bed, I’m on the phone with someone. McCoy, what’s going on?”

“Um. Charles isn’t exactly in a position to get himself home, and I have more work here to do. I guess you probably can’t get him, you have the kids. I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m calling you.”

Erik frowned harder. “Is he hurt? What’s wrong with him? I can come get him, but what’s going on?” He would see if Jean could come watch the children for a minute, while he ran to the university.

“No, he’s… absolutely smashed.” There was something between amusement and chagrin in his voice and Erik could hear Charles saying something loudly in the background that sounded like don’t listen to his lies!

Erik paused, then started laughing. Charles, of all people, was drunk? This he _had_ to see. “I’ll be there soon,” he said with a grin, and put a call in to Jean, promising the kids that they could stay up an extra thirty minutes with her.

* * *

Erik walked into the lab, still grinning, and looked around. “Charles?” he called. “McCoy?”

“Here,” McCoy called, in a long-suffering tone. Erik rounded the corner and found Charles sitting on a desk in only his white undershirt and pants, his sweater abandoned on the floor. He was beaming at Hank, gesticulating wildly.

“And that’s just _it,_ it’s absolutely _marvelous_ because it’s both flavors at the same time and in these tiny little spheres, Hank, little teeny spheres and they melt in your mouth and you spend ten dollars for _nothing_ and it’s absolutely _marvel- Erik!”_ He caught sight of him and his smile brightened. “Hello! Did you come to work, too? You should see all the progress we’ve made!”

“Is that so?” At some point, Erik’s face would start hurting at how much he had been grinning. “What have you been researching, Charles?” He moved forward. “You are absolutely _trashed,_ aren’t you?”

“ _No,”_ he disagreed, appalled and drawing the vowel out much longer than necessary. He caught both sides of Erik’s unbuttoned jacket, anchoring his hands there as he grinned goofily up at him. “Absolutely _not,_ no, I have had two drinks and that is all!”

“Two drinks of 120-proof liquor,” Hank pointed out.

“He handles his liquor suspiciously well,” Charles whispered very loudly to Erik. “I think he poured it into the plant.”

“He very well may have,” Erik agreed, steadying Charles with hands on his arms. God, he was so _cute._ “Hank, why the hell would you allow him to _two_ of those? What did you feed him, moonshine?”

“It’s not… _moonshine.”_ He frowned slightly and Charles _giggled._ “We were resting his ability with the collar and the alcohol.”

“It’s not-not moonshine,” he stated, leaning forward and sniffing Erik’s neck. “You always smell so good,” he noted happily. “You use my soap, how is it possible you always smell so good?”

Hank cleared his throat, raising his eyebrows, and Erik ignored him, moving back and gently setting Charles on his feet, trying not to think too hard about the way Charles’ body felt, pressed against him. “All right,” he said, keeping his hands on Charles’ shoulders. “We’re going home, Professor, so McCoy can finish his work.”

“Hank doesn’t-”

“Feel free to go home, Charles,” Hank said firmly, turning away to hide his smile. “I’ll manage here.”

“Hm. Okay.” Charles picked his sweater off the ground and hugged it to him happily. “Erik, we should get Dip and Dots on the way home. I was just telling Hank, they’re the most amazing little tiny spheres of ice cream, it feels like you’re not even eating anything and honestly they’re not terribly good-” he wandered ahead of Erik, chattering to the empty hallway, and McCoy chuckled.

“You have fun with that,” he told Erik dryly. “But if you have too much fun, I’ll program your collar to electrocute you.”

Erik stared at him. “I would never do anything like that, McCoy, don’t patronize me. Do your work, I need to make sure that Charles doesn’t fall down a hole or something.”

“It’s not you I’m worried about!” Hank called after him as Erik jogged out into the hallway and caught the back of Charles’ shirt.

“No, this way. Come on, we’re going _home._ It’s time for bed.” He gave a tug.

“No, we should go do something!” Charles stumbled backwards into Erik’s chest and offered him a bright grin. “We should- we should… we should go to the _zoo!_ Oh my god, that would be _amazing._ You could get us into the zoo, couldn’t you?” He looked up at him with shining, delighted eyes.

How the hell was he supposed to say no to _that_ shit? Erik opened his mouth and closed it again. “I… could,” he agreed after a long moment. “Yes, we could go to the zoo. But there are guards and cameras, Charles, I can’t be caught doing illegal shit. Why don’t we go tomorrow?”

“Oh, right.” Charles frowned slightly as he thought. “I don’t want you to get arrested, you’re not wrong…” He sighed, accepting this logic heavily. “I would miss you if you got arrested. Fine. We’ll go another day. Oh wait, I have to get something from my office.” He changed track rapidly, starting up the stairs and falling over the first one.

“Oh my god.” Erik laughed, the words _I’d miss you_ ringing through his head, and put a hand beneath Charles’ arm, locking his left arm against Erik’s side to keep him steady. “All right, Charles, we’ll walk like this for a minute, it’ll keep you from falling down the stairs and cracking your head open. What are we getting from your office?” He helped him along, gently guiding him up and along the stairway.

“A _present,”_ he said, enunciating like it was obvious and leaning comfortably into Erik’s side. He was a happy, snuggly drunk, Erik noted with amusement. _It’s not you I’m worried about,_ Hank had called meaningfully.

Of course, Erik wouldn’t let anything happen. Not that he would _mind_ if anything happened, but Charles was drunk. Erik was definitely not into that- Charles couldn’t consent in the slightest like this. But it was so warm and soft and amazing to have someone like Charles be so wholly comfortable with him, it was okay if he let him cuddle into him like this. There was no harm there. Erik smiled a little, shaking his head. “A present?” he asked gently. “What kind of present?”

“I made you a _present.”_ He rolled his eyes, as if it was obvious and tripped over the next step. He caught himself, regarding the step balefully, and climbed it more carefully before they were on flat ground again and he was able to continue toward his office with less obstacles. “Did you know that I know famous people?” he asked importantly. “I do.”

“Do you now?” Erik grinned down at him. “Who do you know that is famous, Charles?”

“ _Tony.”_ He rolled his eyes as if this should be common knowledge to Erik. “And Peter, and Steve. Clint’s not really famous but he wishes he was. Lots of people.” He stopped, frowning down at his door, and patted around his pockets for his keys.

“Wait.” Erik stared at him. “Are you seriously saying that you know _Tony Stark_ and fucking _Captain America?_ How the hell do you know them?”

“Well, Tony and I are friends.” He found his keys and began systematically trying each one in the lock. “We were both young, rich, geniuses… You know. We hung out.” He shrugged. “Sometimes Hank and I collab with him but he’s got so much help now with Bruce, he doesn’t need us so much unless it’s mutant-specific because Bruce is the only mutant onboard the Avengers right now…” He scowled, starting over with his keyring. “Steve I know because he and Tony are always…” He waved both hands in the air.

“What? Really?” Erik laughed. He was so cute drunk and annoyed, Erik was just going to let him fight with the keys instead of flicking a finger and opening it for him. “I thought Stark was all about that ginger girl.”

“Tony is an equal-opportunity lover.” He laughed warmly, affectionately. “He loves Pepper on their on moments. He and Steve are dysfunctional as a coconut in the Arctic, but that doesn’t make them care any less. I’m eager to see if he ends up with either of them ever. Or just kills Steve, I guess.” He finally succeeded in opening the door and traipsed inside victoriously with a cheer.

“Don’t know if Stark could kill Captain America,” Erik said with a frown. “Let’s be real, Stark just has a lot of money. At least Steve as you call him has skills.” He’d like to play with the shield, actually- vibranium was very rare and Erik had had very little experience with it.

“Nah, Tony’s… incredible.” He shook his head, fascinated as he considered him. “Intelligent and sharp and the most resourceful human I’ve ever seen in my entire life. You could leave him with a paper clip, a battery, and a pair of scissors, and he’ll make you something. He once spent one night studying my thesis and utterly tore it apart the next morning, it was the worst twenty-four hours of my life.” He laughed as he grabbed a box from the desk.

Erik shifted a little. “You know, I could probably do a lot of cool things with a paper clip, battery, and a pair of scissors.”

“Oh, I’ve no doubts.” He grinned up at Erik as he moved around the desk. “I said the most resourceful _human,_ mind you. Happy Unbirthday, Mr. Lensherr.” He presented the box happily, swaying slightly on his feet.

Erik blinked at him, then reached out and took it slowly. “Thank you,” he said uncertainly, setting it carefully on the chair and opening the top.

Inside was a slender piece of dark metal, a small chess piece shaped like a knight that hummed to Erik as he touched it. “It’s vibranium. Not an alloy like Steve’s shield, so it isn’t as strong as it could be, but Tony gave it to me to test and I asked him to shape it like that as a favor. He thought maybe it could block telepathy or something when I have headaches, but mostly I thought you might like to fiddle with it.”

“You got me vibranium.” Erik turned it in his hands, looking it over in shock. “I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s beautiful.” He couldn’t even really feel it with the collar on, and he already know this was one of the most incredible things he had ever been able to feel. Erik looked back at Charles and gave him a brilliant smile. “This is amazing. Thank you, Charles.”

Charles smiled up at him, bouncing up and down a little on the balls of his feet. “I just wanted you to have something to remember me by.”

Erik frowned at him. “Charles, I don’t _need_ anything to remember you by. It’s wonderful, but that’s not ever something you should ever be worried about.” He reached out, touching Charles’ hair gently. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He beamed up at him, brightening. “Hey, let’s go and see the stars!” He caught Erik’s hand, pulling him out of the room quickly. “And get ice cream!” He added enthusiastically.

Erik smiled a little, shaking his head, but followed obediently. He held the knight tightly in his free hand, feeling the edges of the metal press softly into his skin, and wondered in which moment it was that Charles had become such an important part of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from "Dancing with Myself" by Billy Idol. Really, the lyrics aren't that romantic, but the tune is so fun and bright I could explode. (Also, the music video is this guy singing in like the apocalypse to a bunch of zombies?? It's wild, guys.) I was listening to the song when I wrote out the dancing scene and couldn't help integrating it.
> 
> I am unbelievably excited for y'all to see the next chapter. Things finally come out into the open for our boys, and the kids have a heavy hand in it. It's a true test of strength for me not to update it early just to share it with you. Clarke is keeping me strong and helping me resist.
> 
> Love love love our little community! As always, your comments and feedback are adored beyond reason.


	9. (They) Think I Wanna Marry You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik and Charles have a nice morning, and then the twins decide to have a Talk with Erik about his future with Charles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, I have so many gifs in my head in this moment and don't know how to embed any of them, so Ima just describe them:  
> Peach from Nemo, singing: Today's the DAY!  
> Deadpool: And now the moment... I've all been waiting for.

The morning after he went and picked Charles up from the university was amusing enough. Erik looked up at a thump and couldn’t help but grin into his cup of coffee as Charles came stumbling down the staircase, clumsy and uncoordinated. The kids were already gone, Erik having put them on the bus with the bags of lunch Charles had taught him to pack the morning beforehand. “Hello, Charles,” he said in as chirpy a voice as possible. “How are you feeling?” 

Charles shot him a grim look, shuffling slowly into the kitchen and snatching a mug from the cabinet. “I’m going to smother Hank McCoy within an inch of his life,” he said slowly, voice like gravel.

Erik laughed. “I made you tea,” he informed him. “It’s in the microwave, to keep it warm. English Breakfast like you like. Look at you and your hangover. It’s adorable, really.” Erik buried his laughter in his cup, trying to keep his voice steady. “I made pancakes for the kids, it’s in the fridge if you want some.”

“I love you,” the telepath muttered, shaking his head gratefully as he took the mug of tea out of the microwave, and Erik choked on his coffee. “You’re my hero. Stop snickering about the hangover, wanker, it feels like something died in my brain.”

“Well, I can’t say that’s _not_ your fault.” Erik recovered after a moment, coughing. “And I’m allowed to laugh about it, thank you. I’m the one who had to go get you from the lab and babysit you fifteen blocks.” He laughed. “You are very funny when you’re drunk.”

“Sweet god.” Charles paled slightly, half-hidden from behind his cup. “What… did I say? Did I do anything terribly embarrassing?”

“You asked me to break into the zoo,” Erik agreed thoughtfully. “And you told me that Tony Snark and Pepper Potts and Steve whatever have a little love triangle, which was fascinating. You gave me this.” He pulled the chess piece out, turning it gently in his hands. “It’s fascinating. Thank you.”

Charles glanced at it, then laughed. He stopped immediately, wincing and rubbing at his forehead. “Ah. Jesus. That was supposed to be given to you later.” He paused, frowning hard. “Wait, oh lord. _Did_ we break into the zoo? You know that’s illegal, don’t you? There are cameras.” He looked up at him quickly.

“Which is what I told you,” Erik agreed, amused. “You then insisted that I dance down 5th Street with you to make up for it. That was pretty funny, watching you try to dance when you could barely walk in a straight line. You do fine with the kids, but the absolute insane amount of alcohol in your system kind of ruined it last night.”

Charles’ eyes widened in horror. “I _danced?_ Tell me you’re joking.”

Erik shook his head solemnly. “You made me dance too. You would accept no less and assured me that it was the most fun I’d ever have, and promised that you’d let me try on one of Snark’s suits to see what it was like being covered in metal, if I danced with you.”

The younger man looked hollowly into his cup for a long moment, then, “So my funeral will be tomorrow morning at eleven sharp, if you’d like to attend,” he offered casually. “Formal dress code is optional. Tell my students they all get A’s if they come.”

Erik laughed. “Your twenty-minute lecture on the merits of Dippin’ Dots was honestly more embarrassing, I would think. You’ve danced with the twins before, that was nothing new.” Of course, Charles had never _sang_ in front of Erik, but Erik was planning on keeping that quiet. “It’s not _quite_ death-worthy.”

Charles sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair. “With the twins, everyone looks at _them_ because they’re precious,” he informed Erik patiently. “Not at the skinny, wasted, British, _doctorate-bearing professor_ who is drunkenly dancing alone down the _public street_ and blackmailing his friend into joining. As for Dippin’ Dots, I have no regrets. It’s a most mind-boggling enterprise.” He took a slow drink of tea and relaxed a little, shutting his eyes.

“It was pretty cute,” Erik assured him. “Not _quite_ as cute as the twins, because no one is as cute as they are, but it was close. You’re very funny when you’re drunk. And anyway, I think it would be considered _bribery,_ not blackmail.”

“Mm.” His eyes crinkled at Erik over the rim of the cup. “Tony visits New York pretty frequently to check on… things. I’ll talk to him about the suit when he calls me this week.”

“That’s okay,” Erik assured him. “I’d rather not trust his gadgets. He’s got too much money and not enough common sense. Seeing you drunk was payment enough- I laughed for the vast majority of the night, which was nice.”

“You’re doing a marvelous job of assuring me I did nothing embarrassing,” Charles drawled with a grin, and Erik laughed, shaking his head.

“You were fine,” he assured him. “Drink your tea, drink some water, eat something and take a painkiller, and you’ll be all right enough to teach in two hours.”

Charles nodded and Erik picked up the newspaper, scanning it as they fell into their usual quiet morning routine.

The routine was one that Erik was becoming unsettlingly comfortable with. Most mornings, Erik woke up before Charles, who would sleepily and quite clumsily stumble around the kitchen making coffee and tea for them both. Erik would cook breakfast, they’d feed the kids, Charles would pack lunches while the kids ran up to get ready, and Charles would talk to him as this happened, trying to teach him about the apparently _very_ specific art of packing lunches for their children.

He explained that Wanda liked strawberry uncrustables and Pietro liked grape, and they were very specific on that. Wanda would eat carrots and celery, but Pietro preferred pretzels and grapes as his side snacks. They both liked juice boxes but Charles always gave them a water bottle anyway, because they needed something other than sugar. Sometimes they would pack soup in thermoses, but the kids had differing opinions on soup as well, so it was all very involved.

And then, lunches packed, Charles would talk to him about everything else. He’d ask Erik what his plans for the day were, he’d discuss mutations and politics, he’d explain various projects that his students were up to. It was always interesting, but aside from that, Erik suspected he just liked Charles’ voice and the way his lips moved when he spoke.

They would walk the kids to the bus together, because Charles didn’t trust them to ever walk by themselves, and then they’d end up back at the house. Sometimes they’d fit a chess game in, or else they would be in separate chairs in the living room, reading quietly. 

Eventually, as with this day, Charles would stand, gather up his books and bag, and would head off to teach, leaving Erik to peruse their bookcase, talk on the phone with Agent Munoz of MAD, and email Moira an update that everything was fine.

It was peaceful and casual, comfortable in an impossible way. Sweetly and softly and easily perfect, without any effort. 

* * *

“How much are you loved?” Charles asked Wanda after their story the next night, smiling down at her. Both kids were surprisingly awake still, even after two chapters of _Indian in the Cupboard_ and a poem about pirates. Wanda beamed up at him as she always did, stroking down Mr. Beans’ side.

“More than the stars,” she chirped happily, and his eyes crinkled down at her.

“Yes, sunflower.” He kissed her hair, smoothing it back, then crossed to Pietro.

“And how much are _you_ loved?” he asked the boy, fingers gentle in his white hair.

“More than the planets,” Pietro replied, as he always did.

“Absolutely, sunshine.” Charles kissed his head. 

Erik had seen this ritual every night for over a month and a half now, and somehow it never failed to make something in him tighten and warm. It felt comfortable, like this was what should be happening, like this was perfectly normal. At the very beginning it had annoyed him infinitely. Charles’ claim on his children and his declaration that he loved them had irritated and bothered Erik beyond words, and yet somehow now it was strangely appealing. Charles loved Erik’s children. His children were deeply and obviously loved, and that was amazing. It was everything he could have asked for in their lives.

He had asked Charles about it once during a late-night chess game early in the week. Charles had just shrugged. _I never was really fully sure that I was, when I was a kid. Even while able to read minds._ He had taken Erik’s rook then as punishment for his distraction. _I never wanted them to question it, especially since their mom was gone. They are more loved than the entirety of the solar system, and they are unique and precious and deserving of that love. It was just important to me to reiterate nightly._

Erik hadn’t quite known what to say to that, what to say to such a beautiful sentiment and yet more evidence of the kind of man and father Charles was, and tried very hard not to twist up any of Charles’ metallic decorations at the idea that he hadn’t known he was loved as a child.

He tried again not to twist them now, thinking about the fact that they were four days into their seven-day week, thinking about the fact that he wouldn’t see this ritual in only four more days.

“Sleep well,” Charles told the kids as he stood. “And sleep. If we come back up here and you guys are trying to stay up, it won’t be good.” He headed out the door and Erik settled onto the edge of Pietro’s bed.

“Good night, babies.” He pressed a kiss to Pietro’s forehead, starting to get up to kiss Wanda goodnight, then,

“Dad.” Pietro watched him intently. Wanda sat up slightly in bed, apparently privy to whatever was causing such an alert look in her brother’s eyes, and gave her twin a quick and determined nod when he glanced at her.

“Yeah?” Erik sat back down, watching his son carefully. “What’s on your mind?” He smoothed his hair back gently. “You okay?”

Pietro shot a significant look at Wanda, who shut the door with a flicker of red light and a wave of her hand. Erik raised an eyebrow, interested in exactly how private they wanted this conversation. They knew that Charles might be able to hear, so they’d closed the door? And Wanda was in on it, meaning that they had been talking without Charles or Erik noticing. 

“We want to talk to you,” Pietro said nearly professionally, folding his hands in his lap.

“Yeah,” Wanda agreed seriously, clambering out of bed and climbing up to settle beside Pietro. She leaned back against the wall, stretching her legs out beside his, and folded her hands as well so that they were perfectly mimicked, both looking up at him seriously.

Erik tried very hard not to smile or laugh, but the sight of his six year old children sitting neatly and watching him, ready to have what they were clearly intending to be an adult or serious conversation, was absolutely hilarious. They were so unbelievably adorable. “All right,” he said when he was able to be calm enough not to laugh. “What is it that you want to speak about?”

“There’s a boy in our class named Warren,” Wanda began, and Erik frowned a little, completely confused about the shape this conversation was taking. Warren? He scanned through his memories of the children they’d spoken of, and vaguely remembered them mentioning a Warren, but it had been nothing important.

“And he has two dads,” Pietro finished. Erik paused, trying very hard not to react in any way, shape, or form. He had wondered if there would be someone that would put this idea in their heads, but he hadn’t expected a classmate. Of course; _they_ also had two dads, in the most technical sense. He couldn’t imagine how they would be able to differentiate between actual families and whatever it was that they were. If someone had two men helping raise them, the twins would see that reflected in their own lives.

“We want you to marry Papa,” Wanda informed him primly, and he bit back a smile, imagining Charles’ reaction at this conversation later. He was shocked, honestly, that Charles hadn’t heard it before now. If he had heard and _hadn’t_ told Erik, Erik was going to make him pay. “Warren says it’s legal and nice and they’re together and happy all the time.”

“And you’re happy and together all the time _anyway,”_ Pietro pressed before Erik could say anything. “And Papa likes guys, cause he ‘splained that to us. And then neither of you would hafta go _anywhere,_ ever.”

“So we think you should do it,” Wanda agreed, and Pietro pulled what was _very clearly_ a wedding band from beneath his pillow. Erik stared at them, and then examined the ring more closely. It was gold, he could feel that much. Real gold, warm gold. It was expensive. It was something that wouldn’t have been found easily.

 _Oh my god._ Erik pinched the bridge of his nose. It didn’t matter what he was starting to feel for Charles, what he thought and the fantasies he had idly entertained. His children had absolutely not gotten that ring legally. “Babies, where did you get that ring? You don’t have money to pay for it, so where did you get that money?”

“Don’t change the subject,” Wanda said immediately, parroting a line that Charles liked to use on them when they were in trouble.

“Yeah,” Pietro agreed emphatically, nodding firmly at his sister’s command. “Don’t change the subject. Go marry Papa.” He put the ring in Erik’s palm importantly and crossed his arms, a defiant and united front staring up at him between the two six year-olds.

Erik scrubbed a hand over his head. “Okay, listen,” he said gently. “Just because your papa likes men doesn’t mean he likes _me._ And you’re supposed to date-”

“Do you not like Papa?” Wanda demanded immediately, starting to scowl, and Erik fought down an instinctive flicker of panic, both at the trap he was finding himself in and at the fact that he hand not yet made Wanda actually mad at him.

“You smile at him like you smiled at Momma sometimes,” Pietro chimed in, eyes narrowing suspiciously up at his father.

Erik took a deep breath. “All right,” he said, choosing his words carefully. He couldn’t give them hope. Even if Charles liked men and Erik liked Charles, that meant nothing. He couldn’t give them even a fragment of hope if there was a chance that it would never happen. “All right, so I _do_ like your papa. How could I not? He’s a good man, and he loves you two. There’s nothing more important to me than that. I need you guys to be safe, and he made sure that you’re safe. But that doesn’t mean that he likes me, or that he likes me like that. Babies, people date first, they… they figure out what they like in a person, and-” he took a deep breath.

“Uh-huh.” Wanda looked oddly emboldened by this, taking his momentary pause as reason to forge forward. “ _Dates._ Jean goes on dates. And she says you have dinner, and talk, and play games.” She stared at Erik pointedly, crossing her arms in a mimicry of her brother, and Erik knew she was talking about their chess games, about the times when Charles would frown over the board with Wanda in his lap as Erik settled Pietro on the counter and cooked dinner. It fit that definition to a T.

 _I’m going to kill Jean Grey,_ Erik thought grimly. “That’s… that’s not all dates are, you have to know you’re going on a date, Wanda. You have to talk to each other and decide to be in a relationship, and then go on dates like that. You can’t just go out and do things together and have it be a date, that’s not the way this works.” He put the ring in his pocket. “I can’t just go down there and marry your papa, it’s not that simple.”

“So go have a date with him, and _then_ marry him.” Pietro nodded once, satisfied with this compromise. 

“Good talk,” Wanda agreed, once more parroting Charles’ words as she hopped off the bed and went to join Mr. Beans on her bed.

Erik took a deep breath. “We’re going to talk about this again later,” he said, looking between them, unsure if he wanted to laugh or yell at the insanity. “Tomorrow sometime, we’re going to talk about it. Okay? Just sleep well right now, I love you two more than life.” He kissed Pietro, then Wanda, and closed the door gently behind him.

And then he stood and stared at the wall opposite their room, trying to understand just what the hell had happened.

He found Charles downstairs and for a moment worried that he was having some sort of seizure, doubled-over and holding the island for balance. Then he realized that the other man was silently laughing, so hard that his eyes had filled with tears. “I’m so sorry,” he gasped out between fits of noiseless giggles. “I didn’t know— oh, but I wish I had— you poor bastard—”

“I am going to kick your ass into next week,” Erik growled, sitting hard on a chair, assuring himself that Charles wasn’t laughing at the idea of being with Erik, just at the situation itself. “Do you realize that they _stole a ring?”_ he pulled it out of his pocket. “They stole a ring and I was just railroaded into getting married.” He pressed a hand over his face. “You ass, you didn’t even come try to _save me._ You just sat down here laughing. There’s no way I’ll marry you now, you British dick.”

Charles’ laughter increased and he sank helplessly to sit on the floor, gasping in breaths between his full-body, shaking heaves of silent laughter. “That was so likely before,” he managed to get out before succumbing again to the laughs, and Erik ran a hand down his face, fighting the urge to laugh as well. Finally Charles seemed to get ahold of himself and grinned up at Erik from the linoleum, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

“I’m _truly_ sorry,” he assured him, still muffling a chuckle here and there. “I knew they wanted to talk to just you, but I didn’t know why until it was too late. And then- your face- I just couldn’t help watching the train wreck burn.” He cleared his throat hard, fighting a smile off his face. “Yes, we’ll have to be returning the ring. It must have been Pietro. I only caught a glimpse, but I think he had Wanda distract Jean while he dashed into a jeweler’s.” Erik grumbled in German about the kind of punishment that he would be inflicting on his errant children and Charles laughed again, this time with sound, dropping his head back against the kitchen cabinets. He quieted after a moment and flattened his hand over his heart, smiling up at the ceiling. 

“They are the most magnificent children,” he told Erik warmly, and Erik smiled a little at the description. They really were. “Their little minds were so calm and pure and determined. It’s all so straightforward and simple to them. They just think you’re being slow not getting it.”

Erik rested a hand on the table. “What the hell am I even going to tell them? They’re so certain that this is how it gets fixed, what can we even tell them?” He looked at Charles for a moment, trying to gauge what he thought about it, how the request- it hadn’t been a request honestly, it had been a command- had affected him. Honestly, it seemed like it made him laugh and that was all. Of course, Charles had so many other people to choose from. Someone like Erik would not be the best idea.

“We'll tell them what we _can_ tell them,” Charles told him with a contented sigh, shutting his eyes and clearly still in good spirits after his bout of amusement. “That you like women, that that’s why you were with their mother in the first place.”

“I don’t _just_ like women, Charles.” Erik massaged his temples, privately wondering what the hell he had thought or done that would have led Charles to think he was completely straight. Surely he had heard some of the errant thoughts Erik had been having recently? He had spent a great portion of the last few weeks trying hard _not_ to stare at Charles and think about kissing him, touching him.

But then, Charles himself had admitted his limitations at the moment. He was weaker when he was fatigued (which he was constantly), he heard primarily what people were about to say, he heard only loudly-thought pieces from those around him. Erik had allowed himself glancing thoughts, but few of those thoughts had been explicit and he’d always shoved them away fast. Charles may not have heard any of them… In which case he would just assume that Erik was heterosexual like the majority of the population.

“I guess we don’t _have_ to tell them that, but it’s not a secret either.” Erik said with a sigh, and Charles blinked at him, something flickering across his face too quickly to catch. His fingers drummed once against his chest, and then,

“Well. We’ll tell them… we’ll tell them that they win, that we went on a date and it went terribly. It won’t stop them from trying to Parent Trap us for the rest of our lives, but they should at least give up on the idea of marriage if the dating step doesn’t work out.”

Erik nodded, playing with the ring. They would just tell them that it wasn’t going to work out, no attempt to change it. All right, that was fine. There was his definitive proof- Charles had no desire to try, he just wanted this over with. That was fair. 

Erik scrubbed a hand over his hair. “Does that really surprise you, that I’m not straight? Surely you know how many people at least entertain bisexual fantasies, if they’re not actually bisexual, or in homoesexual relationships. I know it’s not all that common that everyone follows through with it, but it can’t be _that_ surprising.”

“Oh, fantasies are aggressively common,” Charles agreed immediately, stretching his legs out before him. “I’ve never met anyone who hadn’t thought about what kissing the same gender would feel like, at least just the once. But that doesn’t mean that they actually ever would, or that they would ever want to develop any kind of relationship with that sex. You had children with a woman, you had a long-term, on-and-off relationship with her. Your only other primary relationship was with your mother, and your only male friend seems to be held at arms-length from you. It’s quite natural to assume that you are primarily heterosexual, or enough so that you’d see no point in allowing the kids to think that you may end up with a man someday. To be openly bi is not something I would necessarily have expected from you.”

Erik shrugged. “I like who I like,” he said easily. “That has never been a secret with me or to the people I’ve cared about. I happened to like Magda.” He paused, considering his next words as his heart pounded. He had to say that he’d tried, that he had at least made some kind of pathetic effort to make it work. “I happen to like _you._ There doesn’t seem to be any particular criteria, it is what it is, for whatever reason.” He spun the ring around his finger.

Because weirdly, the idea of staying here with him, of building a life together, regardless of what that life entailed, was a pleasant thought. Even if they weren’t madly in passionate love, even if it never turned physical… he liked Charles. He enjoyed his company, he thought Charles was attractive, and his children _loved_ him. Was it completely insane to allow this to happen in some way?

Charles’ smile faded as he focused up on Erik, blue eyes widening and red lips parting. “You… like me? But I’m…” he gestured vaguely to himself, searching and stumbling for the words for a moment before, “I’m a telepath,” he said finally, his surprise and that tiny flicker of hope fading to be replaced again by quiet resignation. “As soon as the collar was off, you wouldn’t trust a minute of a relationship with me.”

Erik frowned. “You’re what, attractive? Good with my children? Sarcastic and violently protective and unbelievably brilliant? You’re right, Charles, there’s _no_ reason I would like you. And as for the telepath part… you got this far with the collar on. I like you, we have good conversations, you’re a fantastic coparent. You’re adorable and attractive. None of those things came from the collar. If it came off, that wouldn’t change.”

“But you wouldn’t be able to trust me,” he pointed out hopelessly. “You’d constantly assume I was in your head or in everyone else’s. You wouldn’t be able to do it, and then you’d take the kids and my heart and just leave, and it would hurt even more than it already is going to with just this blasted crush.”

_Take the kids and my heart._

_This blasted crush._

Erik slowly moved to sit on the floor across from him, touching his knees to Charles’. He searched the younger man’s face- the freckles, the blue eyes that were clouded with worry, and reached out to tuck a curl behind Charles’ ear. “I don’t think that will be a problem,” he said quietly. “We have to build this on trust, and I need to trust you. You have given me no reason not to trust you so far. I don’t see that changing, unless who you are changes.”

Charles let out a small breath, searching his face anxiously. “I can’t… cheat with this,” he said finally, offering a bemused and somewhat weak smile. “I can’t just read you to find out how sure you are or where you want to be. We know what Wanda and Pietro want. What do you want to do?”

 _I want you._ Erik gave a small smile, trying to think of a more coherent way to say that. “I think that if you want to try, I would like to try this, to see if we can make it work. We do okay now, but cohabitating, coparenting, it’s different than being with someone in a romantic sense. I _have_ been told that I am a terrible boyfriend but a pretty decent one night stand, so that should give you an idea of what you’re getting into if you want to see if it works out.” He grinned a little and was rewarded with a slow, answering smile from Charles.

“Are you truly bragging about your sexual talents right now?”

“No,” Erik disagreed loftily. “I’m just telling you the reviews I have gotten.”

“Well, I’ve never doubted _that,”_ he said, rolling his eyes and Erik snorted, pleased at the idea that he had been thinking about that. “I mean, Christ, look at you.” Charles hesitated for a moment, then, “So… what? We _actually_ go on a date?”

“I guess so.” Erik shrugged a little, unsure of this part. “We've spent time together alone, but it was never with this intention, so probably a date is the most logical next step.”

“I’ve never actually seen you _uncertain_ about anything.” Charles’ grin was wide. “You’re like a duck trying to learn how to walk.”

Erik felt his face heat. “Shut up, Xavier. I’ve been busy terrorizing humans for most of my adult life, not dating. What the hell do you even do on a date?” He got up, going to get coffee so he’d have something to do other than look at those large cerulean eyes. “Food, obviously. What else?”

“I’ll take pity on you and plan it.” He could feel Charles’ grin, even if he didn’t look at him, and managed to keep his own smile hidden. “God, the kids are going to be insufferable if this isn’t a complete disaster.”

Erik grinned at the coffee pot. “They’re going to be insane. We won’t get a moment of peace.”

Charles shook his head and stood, stretching. “Well, then. I suppose I’ll ask Jean if she can watch them for a few hours on Thursday.” His smile was playful and he brushed past Erik, vanishing up the stairs as his happiness projected after him, brilliant and once again as infectious as it had been on Thanksgiving. While that had been a warm contentment, however, this was a sharp and nearly painful sort of joy that rendered Erik somewhat breathless.

Erik turned off the coffee pot and poured out the water, feeling a grin cross his face again. He had a date with Charles Xavier. A month or so ago, Erik had given serious thought to killing him, and now he was going on a date with Charles, with the intention to eventually become a permanent part of his life, if they were compatible.

So wonderfully strange life was sometimes, he mused with a smile, and turned off the lights, checking the locks before he headed upstairs for bed.

* * *

Wanda and Pietro were _very_ pleased with themselves when Charles admitted to them the next morning that, in two day’s time, Jean would be watching them for the evening. It took them no time to realize why this was occurring, and they spent the rest of the morning before school crowing about their victory. Charles laughed helplessly at this and made no effort to calm them down, leaving them to run happily amock for the hour. Erik buried himself in the newspaper to hide his smile. Even if it didn’t work out, it was worth it to try, for their sakes. If it made them that happy, he would try as hard as he could.

“They’re insane,” Erik said from behind his newspaper as Charles got ready for school. “You know they’re going to go to school and tell _everyone_ about it, don’t you? It will be a nightmare. Their teacher is going to call us and beg us to bring them home.”

“I’m not so worried about their teacher’s reaction as I am Moira’s,” Charles noted dryly, making a vague attempt to handle his hair with his reflection. “She’ll be petrified it’ll go wrong, or she’ll be _far_ too pleased and assume that it’s all because of her and her bloody camping trip.”

“Well, I mean, it _is_ partly because of her bloody camping trip,” Erik mused, watching Charles try the impossible. That hair would never be tamed. “Watching you wake up all rumpled and cute and hateful was a foundational moment in our relationship. I hope you know that if we get married, we will be going camping for the honeymoon.”

“Absolute nonsense,” Charles said lightly, rolling his eyes with a nonchalance that was ruined by his smile. He frowned at the curls. “I’m just going to bloody shave it,” he murmured to his reflection.

“Your hair is a reflection of your brain,” Erik informed him. “It grows out corkscrewed because you are disorganized. Do you see how mine grows? Perfectly straight. Have you seen my room recently? Perfectly tidy. It’s all about your mental state and environment.” he grinned. “Please don’t shave your head. I really like your curls.”

Charles’ laugh was warm and loud, and shook his shoulders slightly as he struggled to contain his mirth. “You’re absolutely insane,” he informed Erik affectionately, giving up on his hair and instead tying his scarf around his neck. “Um. My apologies if I go somewhat… overboard.” He frowned slightly, finishing his scarf and pulling on his coat. “For the date, that is. Raven says that I have a tendency for _too much._ I’m reining myself in, but…”

Erik watched him with a smile. “That is an endearing trait,” he informed him. “I look forward to it. I don’t have much experience planning dates- normally I just did a restaurant and whatever movie looked like it was boring enough we could make out through it. I rarely felt the need to create a lasting relationship, so I rarely tried for that.” The few times he had, like Magda the first few times, it hadn’t worked. Of course, he and Magda had been terribly matched. “My point is, I will enjoy whatever you plan.”

“Mm. Remember that you said that.” He winked and pulled on the gray beanie he had once offered Erik, apparently deciding that his hair was past saving and electing to simply cover it. “All right then, I’m off to class. I’ll see you when I get home?”

Ah, yes. His imagination had been off on exactly how attractive Charles was in a beanie. Erik grinned and lifted his phone, taking a photo of Charles. “There. Now you can go to class. You are ridiculously cute in that hat, so get out before I coerce you to cancel and stay with me.” Erik waved a hand, trying not to focus on the way Charles’ skin flushed with reds and pinks. He really _would_ find a reason to keep him here if he did. “I’ll do dishes and start food. The kids destroyed the kitchen last night while they were ‘helping.’”

“They do that,” Charles agreed, chewing on his lip for a moment before shaking himself and turning, slipping out the door quickly with a call of goodbye.

Erik set his newspaper down and leaned back in his chair, grinning after Charles and allowing himself to wonder if he had been debating kissing him goodbye.

The next two days were not going to pass fast enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *contented sigh* Well, that was nice, wasn't it? Nine chapters and these idiots finally get a move on. Aside from the morning-after-camping scene, the twins' talk with Erik was the most fun to write. I've been waiting since Day One to give it to you guys and I hope you enjoyed it half as much as we do.
> 
> Comments are gold, my darlings, and I hope you're all having awesome weeks.


	10. Falling Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik and Charles go on their date and FINALLY kiss. God, y'all, get your lives together.

The next two days passed amusingly slowly. Erik was well-used to his routine at this point. He would meet with a MAD agent, give them details on the Brotherhood, go to the store, grab groceries, tidy the house, meet with Moira for the anger lessons… His day would improve when the kids got home, because then he could play with them and talk to them. Charles would be home almost an exact hour after and would scoop them up with joyful greetings of ‘hello, sunshine!’ (Or, in Wanda’s case, ‘sunflower.’) They would talk, have dinner, play a game, send the kids to bed, play chess, and then go to their respective rooms. Erik would look at the ceiling and play through all of Charles’ smiles and laughs, glad that things had shifted, finally.

The schedule hadn’t changed, but suddenly it took so much _longer._ Waiting for the kids to get home on Thursday was torture. Once they were home, he still had to wait for Charles. Dinner and board games and chess were so much harder now that he knew that the attraction was mutual, now that he knew that Charles wanted him, now that he knew that he _could_ reach out and touch him if he wanted.

He _could_ brush the chessboard aside and pull Charles closer and kiss him if he wanted to.

That knowledge made it so much harder to refrain from that action.

The afternoon before the date was even longer than the past thirty-six hours had been. Jean came home when Charles normally would have and cheerfully informed Erik that Charles would be by to pick him up in half an hour.

“He seems excited,” Jean told Erik warmly. “Are you?”

_I feel like I’m going to throw up._ “Do you know how long it’s been since I was on a date?” Erik growled. Years, at least. He had tried on no less than seven different pants and shirts, countless combos. He didn’t even _have_ many clothes, not many outfits to choose from, and he still had struggled deciding. “I’m glad he’s excited.”

She searched his face and smiled a little. “He’s… wanted this for a long time,” she said finally. “Wanted _you_ for a long time. It’s a bit of a telepath thing. I hope it works out for you guys, you’d make a good couple.”

He’d wanted him for a long time? Erik smiled a little, bolstered by this new knowledge. Then he paused. “What do you mean it’s a telepath thing?”

She frowned slightly, as if deliberating whether or not to share, then shrugged. “We tend to fall fast. It’s almost impossible not to— we can see the minds of others. How genuine they are, how determined or happy or brave. When you spend every day glancing at the souls of people, it’s hard not to fall in love with exceptional ones.”

Erik opened his mouth to protest, but remembered something that Charles had said once; _it’s the most brilliant thing I have ever seen._ “Oh,” he said, and then the rest of her sentence hit him. Fall in love? Was Charles in love with Erik?

That was just about one of the most incredible things he had ever heard.

Erik grinned at her a little. “Thank you for taking care of the kids. They love you, and it’s good to have someone we trust.”

“Absolutely.” Her smile was bright and she turned to rescue Mr. Beans from Wanda’s clutches as the girl dashed down the stairs.

Erik yelled goodbye to the kids and headed outside, unable to stay in the house any longer. He had rarely if ever been nervous before a date, but he definitely was now. He realized in that moment that Jean had said he still had half an hour before Charles came to pick him up, and felt like an idiot.

He spent the half hour walking around to distract himself, trying not to amp himself up more, and then _finally_ Charles’ car pulled up neatly to the curb. He stepped out, offering Erik a brilliant smile. “Why are you outside?” he asked with a warm laugh as he walked around to stand in front of him. Erik stared for a moment. Charles was in a blue dress shirt and long black slacks, clothes that accentuated his body rather than hiding it under layers and layers. The blue brought out his eyes perfectly, made them almost _too_ vivid, and his curls had been somewhat tamed, laying silkily back instead of chaotically everywhere.

Erik opened his mouth and shut it slowly, giving a smile. “You look very nice,” he managed after a moment. “And I’m outside because the kids kept asking me questions and Jean kept grinning at me.”

Charles laughed. “Well, that’s the nature of a telepath,” he noted. “I smirked at her and Scott for about six months before they finally got together. You look wonderful, Erik. Would you like to go?”

Erik nodded, giving him a smile. “Yes, let’s go. And thank you. It took me about a hundred tries to find something I liked, and I don’t even have that many clothes.”

Charles’ smile widened and he shook his head cheerfully, returning back around the car to get into the driver’s side. “I’d like to warn you that my driving has been classified as ‘interesting,’” Charles noted as he got in.

Erik glanced at him, eyeing him in worry. “Interesting,” he echoed slowly. “What… exactly is _interesting_ about your driving?”

“It’s just very confusing to be on this side of the road all the time,” he noted, waving a hand dismissively. “But I do have an American license, it’s fine. I typically use Ubers or taxis, but this will be fine.”

Erik stared at him. “Maybe _I_ should drive,” he said carefully. “You know, just for safety.”

Charles laughed and shook his head. “It’s fine,” he said, blissfully ignorant as he reversed the car and the back wheel hopped the curb. “Do you have a preference for what you’d like to eat tonight? I have the activity planned, but the dinner is less so.”

_Oh my god he’s going to kill us._ Erik caged the laughter and cleared his throat. “No, not really. Whatever you’d like, sounds good to me. I am violently allergic to shellfish, so unless you’re trying to get sole custody of the kids, maybe stay away from seafood restaurants.”

“Shellfish.” He noted this, pretending to consider the option, then shook his head regretfully. “Ah, but then who would I have for eye candy?”

Erik nodded solemnly. “I suppose you _could_ find someone, but in my opinion, finding new eye candy is a pain in the ass. Maybe just go with what you’ve already got.”

“That’s what I was thinking, too,” Charles agreed, promptly merging lanes without using his signal. He didn’t seem to notice the honking from behind him. “How was your day?”

“It was very slow.” Erik wondered vaguely if he could get hold of the car if they got too close to another. “I swear, Wanda was messing with the clocks so they went slower. How was yours? Your students had presentations today, right?”

“Yes.” He chuckled. “I had a surprisingly hard time focusing on them. Some were even quite interesting. Kitty did a research paper on her own mutation, finding records of others like her and then testing the speed with which she can phase through different matter. For example- she can phase through water and run through it with no resistance. I think with work, she could phase through the wind resistance as well. It’s fascinating.”

“That’s interesting. Do many of your people do that, research their own mutation? Or do they normally look elsewhere?”

“Those who are mutants, I recommend doing one paper on their mutation per term. I’ve no way of determining who is or isn’t a mutant, and I can’t require it, but it can be incredibly beneficial to know more about the background of your mutation. Learning more about different telepaths and how they cope with our gift was incredibly enlightening when I was young. I could have been tempted to use my ability differently, in a more self-serving manner, had I not.”

“I can see that,” Erik agreed thoughtfully. “There aren’t many metallokinetics, actually. And the ones that exist are a little different than I am in a lot of ways, though I haven’t actually done much research. I’ve met two others.”

“You’re definitely the strongest I’ve ever heard of,” Charles agreed firmly. “There’s a little metallokinetic who accompanies her sister to one of my classes sometimes. She’s just a kid, but it’s cute to watch her play with her quarters in the back of the room. Always reminds me of you.”

“That’s cute.” Erik smiled, remembering when he was young and had been able to do very little more than play with quarters on purpose. He paused. “She’s a kid? How old is she?” She’d manifested early, then. “She may end up being stronger than I am, once she gets older.”

“Hard to say.” His face was slightly sad. “There are some of us who manifest young merely because we do. I can’t remember manifesting, personally. Others manifest at puberty. Others manifest as a response to trauma, and that then invalidates the age as an indicator as strength. Lina manifested as a result of trauma. She’s about ten. Lacey is just a baseline human, but she brings her to class in the hopes that she’ll pay attention to me.” He chuckled at the thought. “She’s a good sister.”

“Poor thing.” Erik winced. Manifesting, no matter the age, was terrifying and difficult to go through. Manifesting due to a traumatic experience heightened _both_ experiences to a terrifying level. Erik had simply manifested, he hadn’t had to deal with that.

“What was the first thing you intentionally did with your power?” Charles glanced at him curiously. “Do you remember?”

“Intentionally?” Erik considered, then grinned a little. “You’re not going to like it. It was maybe a tiny bit disrespectful.” Charles frowned hard at him and Erik laughed. “So I told you that I didn’t like my school. I may or may not have broken the screws off my teacher’s chair after she called me out in class for being the worst student.”

Charles paused to consider this, head tilting. “ _Were_ you a bad student? Or did you just struggle to learn?”

“I just struggled to learn.” Erik shook his head, using the little power he had to shift the steering wheel to the left to miss a post box. “I do a lot better when I’m self-paced. I probably would have done better with homeschooling or something.”

“Maybe if you go back to school, you could do an online program. Often they’re on their own pace,” he suggested, then glanced around and pulled into a parking lot. “Ah, we’re here. You ready?”

“I’m ready,” Erik agreed, looking around curiously. What kind of place would Charles choose as a first date place? As far as he could tell, they were in the country, having driven a way away from the city itself. There was a large, elegant sign with _Art OMI_ written in bold letters to their left, right in front of a large, geometrical building. Fields extended out beyond them, structures jutting into the sky here and there out of the grasses.

“You wouldn’t believe how hard you are to plan a date for,” Charles informed him, clearing his throat, and Erik turned back to find him turning a small, flat round button over in his fingers. He tucked it into his palm and gestured for Erik to accompany him along the path to their left, approaching a large, twisting sculpture of metal that bent in on itself in impossible geometry. “It’s a sculpture park,” Charles said as Erik tilted his head at the sculpture, trying to reach out with his gift enough to identify the metals within. Steel? Aluminum? It was so much harder to tell.

“Hold still,” Charles murmured from behind him, lips beside his ear and one hand flat against his back, and Erik heard a distinct _click_ when Charles pressed the button in his other hand.

The effect was instantaneous. 

He could feel _everything._ There was metal beneath his feet, deep down in pipes that carried water, there was a plane in the sky- three, actually. The magnetic field in the earth, all around him and beneath him, flowed back into Erik as they had every day of his life since he’d manifested as a child and grounded him, truly clearing his head for the first time in a almost two months. He could _breathe-_ it was like he’d had a barrier between him and the world and that heavy curtain had been yanked back and left him blinking in the light.

Instinctively, immediately, Erik reached out, the sculptures around them flaring to life around him like actual fire as his power expanded and curled around them. Charles laughed in delight, but Erik was consumed. Tungsten and steel and aluminum, iron and copper and silver and gold, all with their own flavors and their own strengths and weaknesses, every single one more than breathtaking after being blind for so long.

Erik let out a harsh breath, closing his eyes as his fingers spread and his gift buried itself in the structures around him, making the sculptures ripple like water as he held onto all of them, let himself feel all of them.

He had missed it so much. Erik Lensherr was one of the most powerful mutants he had ever met in terms of sheer power- he had burnt out only once and had been chemically muffled once before, but for most of his life, every moment of every day he had spent his time burrowing into every piece of metal around him and learning every inch of it. He hadn’t truly understood how much the muffling had taken from him until this moment.

After a few breathless minutes, Erik let the sculptures around them go, let them settle back into their shapes, and pulled back into himself, letting the nearest pieces hum against his senses pleasurably, Charles’ watch and cufflinks singing in a familiar way but with so much more depth than he’d been capable of moments ago.

Erik looked down at Charles, searching his face in wonder and bewilderment, a deep sense of gratitude burning in his chest. “You gave my power back,” he said somewhat unsteadily, allowing himself to drown in the beautiful blue eyes looking up at him. “How did you do that?”

Charles was smiling brilliantly, eyes bright and crinkled at the corners. “It’ll only last a few hours, I’m afraid,” he said, pocketing the button again. “As soon as I was collared, I went to class. Remember? And then I went and met with Hank, and he developed a sort of interference device.” He winked up at Erik. “I told you-- ‘if I thought you weren’t right for the kids, I would have this collar off in an instant and you’d never see them again.’ I wasn’t bluffing.”

Erik looked down at him, feeling a smile cross his face as he processed this. Charles had always had the capability to take the children and go… he just hadn’t done it. He was trusting Erik now, alone in a place filled with metal. He had given him his gift back, a little bit of freedom. A piece of himself, because from the moment Erik had manifested, he had changed.

Charles grinned up at him as if he could hear Erik’s thoughts- and maybe he could, maybe he’d unmuted himself too but Erik honestly couldn’t find it in himself to care- and Erik brushed the other man’s hair back, then leaned down, kissing him and pulling him against his chest.

He _had_ meant to wait until after the date was over, but this was a different situation than he had expected and Erik could do nothing except deepen the kiss and pray to god that Charles could understand how much it meant to have half of himself back without Erik having to fumble through an explanation out loud. 

Charles made a noise of delight and kissed him back, raising his hands to Erik’s cheeks and leaning up into him. Erik smiled, feeling the sculptures around them shiver and sing, echoing the deep contentedness in his chest as he kissed his telepath for the first time.

Charles tasted like tea and mint, felt like warmth and safety and home and an absolutely bizarre but still true bone-deep rightness, like the first time that Erik had used his gift on purpose to curl a spoon into itself, like the first time he’d stood at the front of the synagogue with his rabbi and read the _aliyot_ over the Torah, like the first time he’d looked into the crib of the twins and watched them sleeping together. Kissing Charles Xavier was just like that, just like everything that had ever felt right and normal and safe. Like a piece of his life falling into place with a click as nearly audible as Charles pressing the button.

When Erik pulled back, Charles blinked up at him, looking somewhat dazed and impossibly happy. “Hello,” he greeted him breathlessly, smiling. “You like your surprise, then?”

“Yes,” Erik said with an equally breathless laugh, running a hand through Charles’ hair and not letting him go for a moment. “It would have been good enough without giving me my gift back, but…” he smiled and closed his eyes, feeling along the pieces around them. “This is perfect. I’ve missed it. Thank you, Charles.” He leaned down, kissing him again, then let him go carefully. “I can’t believe I never knew this was here.”

“The park?” He looked around happily. “Well. You were busy blowing up anti-mutant politicians and inciting riots. You didn’t have time to go wandering through parks to taste the metal. I thought that taking you to a park like this was only fair if you could actually enjoy it.” He reached out, fingers tangling lightly through Erik’s. “Come on, I want you to be able to see them all before the buffer wears off and you can’t feel it anymore.”

Erik squeezed Charles’ fingers and smiled, unsure if his feet were even actually touching the earth, considering the lightness in his chest. “Okay,” he said warmly. “Let’s go.”

Charles wandered with him through the darkening park, admiring the different sculptures and architectural art pieces. Erik had absolutely never held anyone’s hand other than his children’s and his mother’s. It was surprisingly nice, the warm curl of Charles’ fingers through his. He would have expected that he’d be irritated or somewhat uncomfortable having to slow down to keep pace with Charles’ shorter legs, but instead it was easy, because he was too busy looking at him, talking to him, listening to him. It was nothing to slow down for him.

By the time they reached the center of the field, real darkness had fallen. Stars shimmered in the sky, bright against the blackness that was more common out away from the city. It reminded Erik of Arizona and Pennsylvania, of various dark skies sites he’d been to, and he told him about them as they walked. Charles watched him with all the fascination he’d shown everything, delighted at Erik’s description of the stars and planets that were visible in those places.

Charles, it turned out, had prepared ahead of time. He’d arranged for food from a small, family-owned Italian restaurant with incredible pasta to be delivered to them somehow, and it was waiting in a large cooler for them on top of a blanket. “Since you like eating on the ground like a hobo,” Charles remarked with a grin. “Although you’ll note that we have real silverware and food rather than tinfoil and vegetables.”

Erik laughed, shaking his head with a grin, and they settled down to eat. “So,” he said as Charles twirled his pasta around a fork, “If you could have another power, dual-mutate, what would you have?”

“Oh, something I could use frivolously,” he said enthusiastically, immediately, leaning forward slightly toward Erik over the blanket. “Telepathy isn’t something you’re really supposed to use as a mutant. You’re just sort of supposed to repress it all the time, because everyone considers it to be an invasion of privacy. So many other kinds of mutants are allowed and supposed to be proud of their ability, but telepathy isn’t something you’re really supposed to be like that for. I would love to be able to do something just fun, something accepted. Maybe…” he considered this, then, “Maybe teleportation. I’d love to be able to travel more easily. Or telekinesis, it would be lovely to be able to move things with my mind.”

Erik searched his face. Of course, that was true. He had never considered how much it might bother someone, to have a mutation that they were not allowed to use, or at least not use openly. That would be terrible. And Erik had reacted badly, too, so he couldn’t even say that everyone else had been wrong. It was his mistake, too.

“Is your collar off too?” He asked curiously. “Or is it just mine?”

“Just yours,” Charles assured him as he took a drink.

Erik paused, looking up at him. “Why just mine?”

“Because.” He shrugged comfortably. “I want whatever comes next, if anything comes next, to be completely clear in your head. I don’t want you to ever wonder if your feelings were genuine, or if our foundation was genuine as opposed to manufactured and manipulated by me.”

Erik gave a small smile. “I do on occasion have anger issues,” he admitted. While right now, listening to the warmth of the metal around them and still with the memory of what it felt like to kiss Charles making him feel peaceful, he couldn’t deny that his anger issues were _stunning_ in their capacity for manifesting in paranoia. “I’m working through them with Moira. I want to be better. I’d like to be able to trust people.” He swirled his fork around. “I do trust _you,_ Charles. You’ve done nothing but try to help me with the twins, you gave me chance after chance.” He gave him a smile, meeting those beautiful eyes. “I don’t think that you would manipulate anything.”

Charles’ answering smile was almost painfully brilliant, sweet and warm in a way that had Erik’s chest lurching. “Even with the collar, I can see glimmers of your mind,” Charles answered to Erik’s question, resting his elbow on his knee. “It’s beautiful and so sincere. There’s anger, or happiness, or want, but it’s always so clear in its emotion. Other people’s minds are cloudy, but never yours. That’s something worth trusting.”

Erik smiled, tilting his head at this new and surprising thought. Charles trusted him. This situation was, of course, evidence of that, but it made Erik’s chest tighten a little anyway at the verbal affirmation that somehow, Charles had found it in himself to trust someone like Erik.

But something else caught his attention and was much easier to discuss. “Do you know why it’s so clear? I’ve never heard another telepath say anything like that.”

Charles’ eyes crinkled up. “No,” he admitted. “I didn’t exactly take time to look at it when we first met, and then I was collared. I get glimpses of it now, but…” he made a noise of thought. “It’s rather like seeing a full moon obscured by clouds. You begin to get a picture through the holes in the coverage- it’s bright, it’s round, it’s beautiful, etcetera. But with the clouds moving and constantly shifting around, you don’t get to really take in what it looks like, it’s more a collection of facts and an amalgam of what those facts would look like.”

Erik considered this, chewing another mouthful of pasta. This really was excellent food. “Does physical contact help? I’ve noticed that if I’m a few feet away from a piece of steel or something I can’t do much, but if I’m touching it…” he shrugged.

“It definitely factors into the equation,” Charles agreed. “Normally I can hear half the city at a time, sometimes more, if I focus. But there is a range. The collar obviously enormously reduces my range, along with how clear the voices and emotions are in the first place. So I can catch glimpses from you, but I wouldn’t be able to catch anything from someone in the parking lot right now.” He gestured to it, then waved a hand. “I babble to you about telepathy all the time. Stop distracting me. If you were able to dual-mutate, what would _you_ choose?”

Erik considered this with a smile, tearing a piece of garlic bread apart. “Honestly, teleportation is _incredibly_ useful. My best friend is a teleporter.”

Charles rested his chin in his hand. “Tell me about him,” he requested.

“Azazel?” Erik smiled at him. “Well, he’s Russian, and you’d like his accent too, probably- it is still incredibly thick. He’s very smart and has good reflexes- he taught me a lot of hand to hand combat. He doesn’t like reading, really, but he likes watching films. He never had patience for chess, but he does like card games, as long as they’re chance.”

“How long have you known him?”

“I knew him before I joined the Brotherhood. He was the first person I called when Magda told me that she was pregnant, he was in the hospital when they were born because I was a little nervous and he knew I’d like having someone there.” Erik smiled at the understatement of _a little nervous._ “He’s a good man. You’d like him. Actually, you’d _love_ him- his mutation is physical as well.” Erik scrolled through his phone until he found a photo of Azazel blowing smoke at Erik, a scowl on his face. “He’s not _always_ crabby. He’s very loyal, actually. He found me first, when I came here, and promised to hold off the Brotherhood as long as he could.”

Charles studied the photo, delighted at Azazel’s appearance. “Marvelous,” he notd. “Absolutely marvelous.” He handed the phone back and hesitated. “You might want to advise him to make a deal as you did, Erik. My sister works for MAD, and they truly are getting very close to bringing Shaw in. It’s only a matter of time before they make a move, maybe with the Avengers’ help.”

Erik snorted. “The Avengers only clean up messes _they_ make, Charles. But... I know. I told him that a few days ago. I texted him, I wanted him to know.”

He had wondered so often about just how much interference Azazel was running. He had been with Charles and the kids for over a month and a half now, and the Brotherhood still hadn’t shown up. It didn’t lull Erik into a false sense of security at all, he knew it was only a matter of time. It did, however, make him wonder what his friend was doing to stall so successfully, to try to give Erik as much time as possible.

Charles nodded, then started as his gaze landed on his watch. He let out a sigh. “Ah, bloody hell, it’s late already. We should head back and let Jean go home. Do you want to drive back?” His smile was teasing as he offered the car keys.

“Oh thank God.” Erik grasped them, using the opportunity to touch Charles’ hand. “You drive like a maniac. You almost killed five people.”

“Not even slightly true.” Charles’ grin was brilliant as he pushed to his feet and loaded all their food items into the cooler. “Endangered, possibly. Almost killed, no.”

Erik laughed, leaning down to kiss him again, letting his lips linger because he _could._ Charles kissed him back, leaning up a little, and Erik wondered if he’d ever get bored of that. “I should get a job,” Erik informed Charles once he’d gotten his head back on straight, taking the cooler from him out of reflex as they continued back down the path toward the car. “So I can take _you_ out. I never particularly wanted to be a kept man. Although this food was amazing.”

“Well, once your collar is off, your opportunities will expand greatly,” Charles mused. “You could do blacksmithing or construction, something where you can utilize your gift and make money at the same time.” 

“This is true,” Erik agreed. It must have been a couple hours- he could feel the edges of his ability dimming again. It wasn’t a complete blackout all at once like before, which was nice, but rather a gradual fade. The hum from the sculptures and magnetic fields were becoming slowly quieter and softer, and he knew they would be gone by the time they reached the house.

He’d miss it terribly.

He watched Charles’ back as the telepath wandered forward to examine a twisting, spiral metal staircase in fascination, then reached out, giving his fingers a soft twist and curl. The button’s wiring responded easily enough, his power more than strong enough to lift such a light object, and it floated out of Charles’ pocket and into Erik’s fingers.

He could keep it.

The thought was fleeting and, surprisingly, not tempting in the slightest. He turned the button over in his fingers as Charles exclaimed over the geometry of the piece in front of them, bright and excited about something about it. He wasn’t fully listening anymore, too far in his own head.

Charles had given him something today, something that _mattered._ A few hours feeling like himself, a few hours of normalcy. He’d had the opportunity to do the same to himself, and he hadn’t, out of concern for Erik’s feelings and sense of safety. So often, he realized slowly, that was what Charles did; ensure that the people around him felt safe and secure.

Didn’t Charles deserve to feel that way? Didn’t he deserve to feel free, to be himself completely, not to have to feel like he had to cage himself into a box just because of what he was? _He hates telepaths._ Charles’ voice rang in his head and Erik watched the professor point out a piece he especially liked, glowing about how long it must have taken them to complete, how marvelous it all was.

Erik and Moira had gone around and around about this, and he’d pushed back against her assurances that not _all_ telepaths were like the ones he’d known. Erik had pushed back at first because he believed it, and then out of contrariness. But Charles was good. He was kind, affectionate, brilliant, and actually one of the few selfless people that actually existed.

Erik reached out, holding the button beside Charles’ collar, and pressed it.

It was as instant as it had felt. The little light blinking on Charles’ collar went out and he staggered, stumbling so hard that Erik had to catch him, letting the cooler drop in the process. Charles gasped out something that Erik didn’t quite catch, leaning back against him and gripping his arm for balance as he held perfectly still for a moment. Then he turned, twisting around in Erik’s arms and staring up at him with startled, wide cerulean eyes.

“Why?” He breathed, searching his face.

Erik gave him a smile. “Because,” he said gently, leaning down to press his lips against Charles’, and mentally _pushed_ his thoughts a little so Charles would know he meant it and not really willing to stop kissing him long enough to finish the sentence, _You don’t deserve to be caged either._

Shock and want and delight, so burningly bright that it was almost overwhelming but certainly not painful, instead so buoyant and brilliant that he thought his very skin might be glowing. Charles had projected once or twice, like at Thanksgiving, but _this…_ he really had been muffled. This was so strong it took Erik’s breath away.

Or maybe that was just the kiss, Charles leaning up against him and kissing him hard and enthusiastically, fingers curling into the back of his shirt as thoughts scattered across Erik’s mind like falling stars-- _want_ and _Erik_ and _beautiful_ and _wants me like this,_ all exploding on impact and sending shivers of warmth and joy across Erik’s skin, his breath, his mind.

Erik pulled him up against him, kissing Charles like he needed to do so to breathe, and right now it almost felt that way. At this particular moment he would much rather kiss Charles Xavier than breathe.

Jesus Christ, why hadn’t they been doing this all along? He tangled a hand in Charles’ hair, mussing his careful handiwork, and drowned in the sensations what it was like to actually be linked with a telepath, following the strange and beautiful trails of light and heat between them as the gorgeous man in his arms set him on fire.

It was Charles who managed the self control to eventually pull away, smiling up at Erik breathlessly and brilliantly. _I would do this all day,_ he murmured inside Erik’s mind, voice soft and accent thick, _But we have a curfew, our babysitter has class tomorrow. We’ve got time._ He leaned up, kissing Erik more slowly this time, agonizingly sweet, then pulled back and picked up the cooler, almost dashing to the car.

Erik ran a hand through his hair to attempt to compose himself, reminding himself that there was in fact a reason for them to go home now and there _wasn’t_ a reason to rush. Rushing was exactly the worst idea right now, it didn’t matter that Charles kissed like no one Erik had ever touched and how the memory of the sound of the telepath’s mental voice gasping Erik’s name made Erik take a slightly longer route to the car as he touched the sculptures he passed to refocus himself. He wanted to take his time. He wanted to make sure that they both knew what they were doing and that they were both sure before they did anything else.

It was ridiculously adorable to watch Charles as he drove them into the city- cute enough, in fact, that it distracted Erik from the fact that he couldn’t feel the metal again. Charles’ head was constantly swiveling, in theory reacting to the different voices and minds around him, and his smile, ear-to-ear, never once wavered. Erik had barely parked before Charles was out of the car and dashing up the steps. 

Jean met him in the doorway, grinning broadly. “That was very nice of you,” she told him warmly. “It would be so hard to be muffled and not hear everything, I can’t even imagine.” She leaned up, kissing Erik’s cheek before he could move away, and let herself out of the house. He rubbed at the spot she’d kissed, smiling a little, and put the food away in the fridge.

Erik found Charles sitting on the floor in the kids’ room with the sappiest, happiest smile he’d seen on him yet, his eyes shut and body swaying very slightly. “I missed their minds so much,” he murmured, voice slightly unsteady, without turning to look at Erik. “I catch thoughts all the time, but it’s not… it couldn’t ever be the same. I love them so desperately.”

And yet he would have gone without it to make sure that Erik felt secure that he wasn’t manipulating him.

Erik leaned against the doorway, watching him as affection swept through him, almost painful in its intensity. He’d felt like this before when he was watching Charles with the children, he knew, and it was good that Charles could hear it now, could truly understand how much Erik appreciated what Charles had done for their children. “I love watching you with them,” he said quietly, trying to memorize the blissful happiness of the pretty little professor on the floor, the peace of the moment, the way it felt to stand there right then. “They’re so important to you, it’s… a large reason why I’m attracted to you. Other than the fact that you’re everything else I’d look for in a partner.” He looked away and watched his children sleeping soundly, happy and safe in their home where they had been deeply loved and cared for for the last year, and felt a smile cross his face. “What are they dreaming about?”

“Pietro’s dreaming about running,” he murmured, lips curving up with the words. “He has a recurring dream in which he races a cheetah. He beats it every time. Wanda’s dreaming of a house built of windchimes.” He opened his eyes, tilting his head at Erik with a smile. “They’re so happy. Truly. They’re so happy, Erik.”

Erik reached out, brushing the back of his fingers along Charles’ cheekbone. “So am I,” he agreed softly. “Thank you, Charles.”

Charles’ smile was warm and his kiss, when they had finished a chess game and a glass of wine downstairs, was soft and gentle and almost unbearably sweet. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he murmured, kissing him again, and then vanished up the stairs, leaving Erik with their chessboard and a fallen king.

Erik laid back on the floor and smiled, feeling the world clicking into place again with that almost-audible click.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've noticed the chapter count fluctuating- we're just as mystified as you are. We were just skimming through the last couple chapters and doing minor edits, and then somehow those minor edits turned into full scenes added. It's insanity.
> 
> One of the edits was that the date was nowhere near this originally. We made it cuter for you guys. ;)
> 
> Love y'all, and hope that this shameless fluff gives you some peace in the insanity we're all living in. Comments and feedback feed my soul!


	11. The Calm and the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles and Erik experience a lovely few days after their date and escalate their relationship a little further... and then the Brotherhood finally makes their move.

In many ways, you could say that Erik spent the next day or two as he always did. He tidied the house a bit, met with one of the agents assigned to his case to give any new information to them. It, as always, felt wrong. But he did it, as he always did. They asked questions about Janos, which was somewhat easier as Erik had no loyalty or affection for the man. Eventually they always left him alone, with only the thoughts of what could happen to the few he _did_ have loyalty to. 

Especially Azazel. He had tried as hard as he could to be as vague as possible about the only person who he could really call _friend,_ but he’d had to give up some information. It bothered him deeply to consider something bad happening to him because of Erik’s betrayal, which was why he’d sent the text. Azazel hadn’t responded, but Erik hoped he was considering ways out.

But the kids were worth it, no matter what loyalty he had to break. Charles, he knew now, was worth it.

Because now, after the twins were asleep, Charles and Erik spent their time talking about their lives, deciding what kind of place they’d like to live in, once the kids got bigger and they needed to move. They spent their time kissing, spent their time getting used to touching each other casually in passing, getting used to each other in this newly physical way. And the more time they spent together as partners instead of just coparents, the more Erik began to suspect that his life with Charles could actually be everything he had wanted from a future.

It was worth the stress… but that didn’t make it any less potent.

* * *

“So Shaw’s crew is fairly small, then,” Agent Munoz reflected, shuffling through the notes he and Agent Summers had taken throughout the session. “Frost, Quested, Salvadore, and Azazel at the moment. Whose last name you just… don’t know.” He eyed Erik, clearly not buying this.

“No.” Erik looked back at him evenly. Azazel also wasn’t his real name, just a codename. Erik knew his first, last, and middle name and there was no way that he’d be giving that up. Azazel was the only friend he really had. “Do you think I processed his W2? We broke shit together, Munoz, we didn’t exchange social security cards. I didn’t need to know his last name to drop a bridge or destroy a conference hall.”

The agent looked tired as he exchanged a look with his partner. Erik couldn’t blame him overly much for that. They had been going back and forth over this stuff for an hour now, and it had been over a month and a half since they’d started. He massaged his forehead and Summers leaned forward. “Okay. Does he have any family?”

“Azazel? No.” A sister, actually. She was just mouth and attitude and actual fire, when you annoyed her enough. “He’s pretty much on his own, like me. Most of them were.” That part was true enough- most of the Brotherhood had no other family than each other.

Summers waved a hand at Munoz, rolling his chair back a foot or so. Munoz focused on Erik. “Look. We know you don’t want him in jail. And we don’t want Sebastian Shaw teleported to the other side of the planet. It works best for everyone if your friend is not there when everything goes down. You wouldn’t have come in just because we asked you to, you did it for your kids and immunity. If Azazel would be willing to make the same deal, maybe he could stay out of a collar and a federal prison.”

Erik bit down on his tongue slightly. The idea of Azazel in a collar, trapped in one place and entirely helpless and not looking entirely human, made his stomach churn. “I’ve been in communication. Careful communication. He’s considering making a deal, but it needs to be on his terms. If you’ve never tried to force a teleporter to do something, you don’t know what it’s like.”

“Put some pressure on,” Summers suggested, running a hand through his hair. “We’re talking a matter of days before MAD makes a decision on how they’re moving. We’re not going to say how many days, no one trusts you enough for that.” Erik snorted out a laugh and Summers ignored it. “Obviously if they’ve been tipped off, this situation here backfires.” He gestured vaguely to Charles’ kitchen, which they were sitting in for this meeting. “You’d have to return to prison for violating the agreement.”

“Subtle, Alex,” Munoz muttered, shifting in his chair.

“I’m giving him a chance to keep his friend out of jail and reminding him that he’ll go back in if he trips us up. I can’t afford to be subtle.” Summers said sharply, and Erik raised an eyebrow. He wasn’t wrong, it made perfect sense.

But it was still funny to watch MAD try to threaten him like that. He knew enough information he could barter a little more time if he had to. “I have no plans to tip off the Brotherhood. If he doesn’t come to you before, I’ll vouch for him after and do what I can to help him escape a collar and a cell.”

Munoz grimaced at the ceiling. “I’m really hoping you’re saying ‘escape’ in a metaphorical sense,” he said, glancing around when the door opened and Moira stepped in.

“Hey,” she greeted them. “How’s it going?”

“Fine.” Erik played with a fork, twisting the twines gently. Even if very little of his power was left to him, it soothed him to use what he had, even if it gave him a headache later. “We’re having a rousing discussion.”

“He’s trying to bury details about the teleporter,” Summers elaborated. She pressed her lips together briefly. 

“Erik, you know that earning full custody back largely depends on you helping MAD take in Sebastian Shaw. _And_ his team.” She sat at the table with him as his temper snapped and flared to life. “How have things been going with Charles?”

And how dare she even ask? Kids’ best interests at heart, sure, but was that even why she asked? Or were they just digging for more ammunition to use against him? What was next? They were already threatening to take the kids away and throw him in jail if he wasn’t helpful enough. Would it next be that they weren’t sure somehow that Charles would get the kids due to him being so sympathetic toward Erik? Would it be that they suspected Erik of tipping off the Brotherhood and Charles of helping him, so they’d _both_ be taken and the kids would have nothing and no one?

They just wanted another threat to weaponize.

Erik curled his hand around the fork to keep the twisted tines hidden as he caged the anger that rose at that. They had literally every single thing in his life that he cared about on marionette strings, ready to snap one if he didn’t listen. “Things are going fine. The kids are adjusting better than they have been, they’re happy. Wanda’s been having a problem with a girl in her class.”

Moira searched his face warily, maybe sensing the poorly-hidden animosity. “I see. You know that you can’t just kill the child in her class? Because you look a little murder-y.”

He stood, going to the coffee maker and starting a new pot. “On occasion I feel a little murdery. I haven’t killed anyone since I got the kids back.” Even though he’d gotten the shit beat out of him.

“Yeah,” she agreed mildly. “And we’re all very proud of that. Isn’t MAD proud?” she glanced over at Munoz and Summers.

“Over the moon,” Munoz agreed, standing. “We’ll let you and Moira meet, Lensherr. Seriously. Put the pressure on your friend. Advise him to think about his… ‘nonexistent’ family. It’s a lot harder to spend holidays with them inside a cell.” He pulled his jacket on. “Moira, you look nice today.”

“Thanks. It’s the scarf, I can’t take any credit.” She waved a hand and he laughed, waving Summers toward the door with him. Erik put a cup down a little harder than was maybe necessary, feeling his frustration spike further. Why was she even here? They weren’t supposed to have a session today. He hadn’t broken anything or hauled off and fought anyone who hadn’t fought him first. Why was he having these sessions, anyway? He had excellent control.

He wasn’t choking her right now, for example.

Didn’t they see that the more they edged toward him like this, the more he felt backed into a corner? That the longer they bothered him about his control, the harder it was for him _to_ have control? “Why are you here, McTaggert?” He needed to be polite to her, to watch himself for the twins and for Charles’ sake, but he felt edgy and angry and tense and he hadn’t had nearly enough coffee to drink and get through this.

Charles was going to be home soon. The kids were at a friend’s, so they’d have a few hours alone before they had to go get them. A small amount of anger left him at the thought of that; his telepath would be back within the hour.

“I wanted to you about family.” She took a drink from the to-go cup she’d brought with her. “And how you define it.”

He frowned back at her. “You came all this way for a therapy session?”

Family? He thought about tossing Wanda over his shoulder this morning, Pietro running circles around his feet as Charles laughed, kissing her head and placing a piece of toast in Erik’s mouth. “Why?”

“Because it’s my job?” She raised an eyebrow at him. “Joint sessions with you and Charles are all well and good, and I check in with the kids at school sometimes, and I work with you on anger management, and I work with you in a more therapeutic angle. It’s all part of being a MFS social worker. Which, yes, I’m aware that I am a human working for Mutant Family Services. That’s not the point.” She rolled her eyes.

“Well. As long as you know it’s strange.” He poured himself a cup of coffee and sat across from her, wrapping his hands around the warm ceramic and taking what little comfort from it that he could. He hated talking about _feelings._ “You want me to define family?”

“Yeah. What the word or concept means to you.” She took another drink, watching him, and he reconfirmed his suspicion that she was meeting here rather than her office so he couldn’t screw with her stuff.

He thought about it. Family. He’d had a family- his mother and father, and then just his mother. She’d died and he had gone into the Brotherhood. He’d had Azazel and to a lesser degree Angel, and at the beginning, Shaw had tried very hard to be like that as well. He’d had Magda and the twins and then just the twins, and now he had the twins and Charles. 

He shifted in his seat slightly. “I don’t know. People that care about you and you care about, who help you with things. Blood relations. People you can trust and fall back on when things get hard.”

“That’s good,” she agreed mildly. “And when do people stop being family?”

When did they _stop?_ He frowned a little. When did one stop being family to another person? “When they stop those things. They don’t care anymore or they don’t support you or help you, when that is all gone. I guess blood family stays family, really.”

She nodded, considering this for a moment, then, “I’m worried about what happens when MAD takes in your old team.” She settled her cup on the table. “Your kids take priority, yes, which is why you’re giving MAD the information they want. But we both know you have a lot of anger pent up, and I don’t want that anger to turn to resentment at the kids for the fact that your old family is now in jail because you had to protect your new family.”

He stared at her. “It’s not _their_ fault,” he said, startled. “The twins have nothing to do with it, why the hell would I resent them? I’m more likely to resent you people for making fucking threats that if I don’t say enough or do anough I lose everything.”

She didn’t rise to the bait. “It’s not their fault, no. But it’s not Charles’ fault that he’s a telepath, and yet you distrust him strongly. If people always followed in logical lines of thinking and feeling, my cases would close up a hell of a lot faster. You might not want to feel angry, you might not mean to. But this could very well be a honeymoon period with the kids. Once you realize that this is all you do, day in and day out, once you realize that your old friends are gone for them, that you can’t just pick up and travel or vent your anger on whoever you want because you have to stay good for them… resentment can and does build. You’ve never been a single parent and now you will be, and it’s coming at a great cost to your ideals.”

He took a long drink. She didn’t know of course, because it wasn’t any of her damn business, that Erik and Charles were trying, that they’d spent the last few days rather successfully beginning a relationship of sorts. She didn’t understand what that meant to him, how Charles eased the loneliness he’d carried for so long, how the twins made so much of his anger fade with their laughter and trust in him. 

Of course he was still angry. He was beginning to suspect that those problems would never truly go away. But they were teaching him, slowly, that there were other ways to cope with it. So often after he _had_ vented his anger properly, he had just felt a burning pit of rage in his stomach, nothing changed or better other than the damage around him. Talking things through a little, trying to be the bigger person like he had when he’d been attacked, did seem to leave him feeling a little better than the alternative.

“There’s no honeymoon period with my kids. I’m their parent and I finally get to fill that role.” Erik shook his head. “I understand what you’re saying, but I don’t think it applies. What I have with them is different than what I had with my old team. Most of them are gone anyway.” Other than Azazel and Angel, most of those he’d been close to had died or disappeared.

She eyed him, then nodded. “All right,” she allowed carefully, and got up to throw her cup away. “Do you know if Charles has decided about taking that Massachusetts job? I need to talk to him about timing and logistics with the kids if he’s going to take it.”

Erik’s cup froze at his lips. Massachusetts job? Charles hadn’t told him about a job in Massachusetts. Why would he be leaving? Erik was here. The _kids_ were here. He’d thought that Charles was happy.

Maybe this was old information, he assured himself as he lowered the cup, frowning slightly. They’d only known each other for a month and a half or so, maybe he’d been looking before then. Erik had to hope that was true. “No, he hasn’t mentioned it.”

“Great.” She blew out her cheeks. “There’s too many balls in the air, I’m telling you. Have you been doing the meditation exercises we talked about?”

He sighed. “I’m trying. It’s hard to shut down sometimes.” He’d tried with the kids and Charles, attempting to make it a family activity, and the kids had lasted about ten seconds before they’d started playing and destroyed any semblance of peace. He smiled a little, thinking about Charles chasing after them with a laugh, trying to explain that their father needed peace and quiet. 

As if peace and quiet existed in this house with those two awake.

“Try with music,” she suggested, then cooed and crouched to pet Mr. Beans. “I love this cat. She’s such a good girl.”

“Why on earth he allowed them to name her _Mr. Beans_ is beyond me.” Erik watched the cat with a slightly fond smile. She had become a companion for him during the day while Charles and the children were gone, purring in his lap while he watched movies and following him around while he cleaned. 

“It was the last movie Magda showed the kids.” Moira kissed the top of the cat’s head, scratching under her jaw and beaming when she purred.

“What?” Erik focused on her, all the jokes he’d made about the name crashing into his head. “Mr. Beans is a movie?” The last movie their mother had shown them and he had made fun of the name incessantly. _What an asshole._

“It’s something like _Mr. Bean Goes on Holiday_ or something like that,” she agreed with an aimless wave of her hand. “It wasn’t very important to the kids when they saw it. I watched it with them once- the main character is _obnoxious_ and silly, but it made them laugh when they saw it again. They were watching it at least once a week there for a while. Charles did try to persuade Wanda to name the cat _Ms._ Beans, but Wanda wasn’t having it.” She laughed. “Honestly, I think Wanda enjoys the chaos. She likes to watch people being confused over the ‘mister’ when she’s clearly a female cat. Six years old and she’s already trolling people.”

Erik felt a real smile cross his face then, resting his chin in his hand. “She’s so much like my mother. Pietro… he’s his own thing. Looks like me but he’s not much like me.” Thankfully, although Erik became a very different person after Edie Lensherr died. He struggled to remember what he’d been like before he had gotten that phone call. “Wanda looks just like her mother and _acts_ like her and my mother. It’s a terrifying mix. She’s going to be a force of nature when she grows up.” She’d have people bowing to her every whim in awe, probably. It was lucky she was sweet.

Moira laughed again, then turned her wrist, frowning at a notification on her watch. “Shit,” she muttered. “I have to go, one of my kids just got in a fight at school. I’ll talk to you guys later. Tell Charles and the babies I said hi.” She straightened and grabbed her purse, vanishing out the door.

Erik watched her go, feeling a little respect thrum through him. For the most part, Moira did try very hard. He really shouldn’t be as rude to her as he was. He made a mental note to attempt to be more civil in the future with his social worker- it wasn’t _her_ call that MAD were all such assholes. It was her job to help him with the kids and Charles, and she had.

Charles ducked in only fifteen minutes later, dripping wet and looking thoroughly put-out. “It’s raining,” he said redundantly, peeling his soaked jacket off his body and trying to brush wet locks of hair off his face. “And you’re just in here all safe and warm and dry, you bastard.”

“I don’t know about safe,” he informed him. “I was just accosted by your cat, I almost tripped and broke my hip. She’s a menace.” He grinned and reached out, touching Charles’ hair and admiring the way the sodden sweater he was wearing stuck to the slim professor. “You’re supposed to use an umbrella and then _not_ jump in a lake, Dr. Xavier.”

“Ew, don’t call me doctor.” Charles grinned up at him, wrinkling his nose slightly as he rested his wet hands on Erik’s arms, streaking them with water and cold skin. “It wasn’t raining a few minutes ago. I thought, ‘it’s nice out. I’ll walk!’ More fool me.”

Erik rolled his eyes and rubbed his hands along Charles’ arms, disconcerted by how cold the shorter man’s skin was, even through the fabric. “Get this wet stuff off before you catch cold,” he informed him, running his fingers along Charles’ wrist. How could anyone look so beautiful when they were half-drowned in a baggy sweater? “Pneumonia is a danger.”

“People don’t catch pneumonia from walking in the rain,” he laughed, but he pulled off his sweater and then the t-shirt under it, carrying them to the sink so they wouldn’t drip. Erik stared, fascination and amusement and something like heat flickering through him as he looked at Charles only half-dressed for the first time.

He was _so_ freckled.

He was neither muscular nor flabby, instead the planes of his body just soft and flat. Erik could see his shoulderblades move as he leaned up to grab a cup from the cabinet and pour coffee into it. He set the coffee down to grab the kitchen towel and dry off his face and hair, turning back to Erik with a grimace. Erik’s eyes were busy flickering over the freckles, mapping the way they scattered across the other man’s skin. Some were spread out, others clustered together. It was like stars, like a warm galaxy spattered across his sin.

“What?” Charles laughed, leaving the towel tossed over his shoulder as he picked up his coffee and took a drink.

“For the love of god, Charles.” Erik moved forward and kissed him, tracing his fingers over the newly bared skin. “Do you have any goddamn idea how gorgeous you are? Jesus. All these damn freckles.” He pressed his lips to a cluster on Charles’ shoulder, thanking every divinity he could think of that they’d already gotten to this point physically. If this had happened only a few days ago and Erik hadn’t been allowed to touch him, he’d have lost his damn mind. He rested his hands on Charles’ hips as Charles made a low sound, shivering a little as he set his cup aside.

“That’s ridiculous, Erik,” he murmured with amusement and a hint of hunger, fingers crumpling Erik’s shirt beneath them. “I’m far from anything to look at- I can’t even tell you the last time I exercised,” he said in a more normal tone.

Erik looked down at him with a frown. “For someone so intelligent, you are often completely ignorant,” he said. “You’re gorgeous, Charles. Hell, look at you.” He traced his fingers along Charles’ arm and up his shoulder, still not liking how cold his skin was, following the lines of freckles there as Charles shifted under his fingers. “You’re more than attractive. I love looking at you.”

“You make it incredibly hard to be a responsible human being,” Charles informed him, clearing his throat, blue eyes slightly unfocused and pupils widened slightly.

“Responsible?” Erik pressed his lips to Charles’ jawbone. “I’m being responsible. You’re cold. You could get pneumonia and die. I’m keeping you warm.” He spread his fingers to cover more of Charles’ side, kissing the soft skin just behind Charles’ ear. “This is the height of responsibility. Our children would cry if you got sick.”

“Jesus, Erik,” he breathed, fingers tightening further, pulling Erik closer against him as Erik nipped at his ear. “You _are_ warm,” he agreed, “You’re so warm.” He turned his head, catching Erik’s lips with his.

Erik kissed him back happily, running his hands along Charles’ arms and shoulders, feeling the chill slowly dissipate. Good. He needed to get him a proper rain jacket, Erik decided as he wound his arms around Charles. A proper rain jacket and an umbrella or something. “I’ve been referred to as a space heater,” he said against Charles’ lips. “It’s a curse. It’s why no one ever shared a sleeping bag with me. Although you tried.” He grinned at the memory of waking up to curls and warmth.

“I did _not,”_ Charles protested, pulling back enough to stare at him in a mimicry of indignancy. “You don’t know that you didn’t move over to me.”

“My bag was against the back wall and you fell asleep against the door side and _somehow_ we both ended up at the back and I came to you?” Erik grinned down at him, running a hand through Charles’ wet hair. “I don’t think so, _schatz.”_

“There are no witnesses,” Charles informed him, eyes sparkling. “You can prove nothing, darling.” He leaned up, kissing Erik again and tugging him back down to his level.

Erik happily kissed him again, hugging the younger man’s slim form against him. He’d never known a relationship like this- soft and warm and comforting, but still with plenty of heat to fuel it. He’d never had anything even close. He threaded a hand through Charles hair and sank into the kiss, thinking about how incredible it had been to feel Charles’ thoughts during the date, when he had been free. They could have it again, when they were both free.

He wondered what that would be like during more intense moments, and then Charles bit down on his lip and he stopped thinking.

* * *

“Erik,” Charles said drowsily, cuddled up against his chest. “You need to go pick up the kids.” He muffled a yawn into Erik’s shoulder, shifting so that Erik had to wrap around him further. “They’re gonna get off soon and I’m not doing it, I’m too warm.”

“Well, the point was in fact to warm you up,” Erik said with a smile, turning his head to kiss Charles’ ear. “You’re a terrible man, and too damn beautiful to growl at.” He pulled him a little closer and kissed his temple, his jaw. It was utterly ridiculous how kissable Charles Xavier’s skin was. “Fine. But you’re making dinner.”

“Hm.” He shifted comfortably, and Erik basked in the pervasive warmth and happiness that his partner was projecting. He’d be surprised if the damn neighbors didn’t feel it. _And this is muffled,_ he thought in amusement. Charles had explained that he had returned the button to Hank, not wanting to be caught with it (or unmuffled) while Erik’s investigation was ongoing. It was yet another sign that he trusted him fully not to turn on him, and that was almost enough to manifest this warm happiness all on its own. “It’s Tuesday. Tacos or spaghetti?”

Erik rolled him onto his back and propped himself up on his elbows, leaning down to kiss him warmly. How was he ever supposed to get anything done? “Spaghetti,” he said. “Watching Pietro eat his tacos is making me nauseous. There’s absolutely no reason to add banana chips in tacos.” He kissed Charles again, then got up with a groan and looked around for his clothes. “You’re lucky you’re so damn cute or I’d throw you out in the rain.”

“I know.” Charles sighed happily, cuddled down into the warm spot Erik had just vacated. “My cuteness has saved me many times.” 

Erik laughed, picking up his boxers, then paused for a beat as part of the earlier conversation in his day came back to him. “So, Massachusetts,” he said, pulling them on and lifting his jeans.

“Hm.” Charles was busy burrowing into Erik’s blankets. “It’s a state. One of the first, maybe? I don’t know, that’s a colonist thing. I’ve always wanted to see Salem, though. There’s a theory that some of the insanity may have been caused by a mutant who could create illusions. Maybe even a telepath.” He considered this, looking morbidly fascinated for a moment. “I definitely could do something like that, were I so inclined. The mass hysteria, seeing ghosts and familiars, it would be easy to incite. The mutant would have to be one of the first ever to crop up, being that mutation didn’t begin to really occur more commonly until the early nineteen hundreds, but it’s entirely possible.”

Erik nodded, buttoning his jeans and picking up his shirt. “Moira says you were looking to take a job in Massachusetts. She wanted me to tell you that she needs to know what you’re doing about that.” He sat on the edge of the bed, watching Charles as he muffled a yawn and wriggled closer. Charles Xavier was, apparently, an incredibly cuddly person after sex. “You never told me about Massachusetts.”

“It’s Harvard, actually.” He tucked his arm under his head. “They had offered me a position to head their X-Gene studies department.”

Erik reached out, running a hand through Charles’ hair. It was mostly dry now, a little dampness lingering here and there. “Are you still thinking about taking it?”

He hated feeling unsure, hated how the warmth of being with Charles for the first time made it hard to think properly and be unbiased about this. Harvard was prestigious. Heading up an X-Gene department was a big deal, an incredible opportunity to do something Charles was so fascinated by and interested in. It was potentially the chance of a lifetime.

But Erik didn’t want him to go.

His heart twisted in his chest at the thought of Charles just leaving, going off to Cambridge and leaving Erik behind. But still…

Erik traced designs on Charles’ arm. “It occurs to me,” he said slowly, “That being who you are, having a relationship with a known terrorist, even an ex-terrorist… your colleagues wouldn’t be terribly understanding of that. It could damage your career. Your chances. Your future of having what you want.”

Had Erik ever thought about what his actions, past or present, could do to the people he cared about? He wasn’t sure that he had, until he’d started falling in love with Charles. The kids had never been in danger- his lack of contact and the fact that they had Magda’s last name made them safe, but Charles… if this continued to a happy conclusion, that still left Charles partnered to someone like Erik.

“Erik.” Charles chuckled, catching his hand and raising it so that he could kiss the inside of Erik’s wrist gently. “Really, darling, what gave you the impression that I care what other people think? They think those things about me regardless. The first time you came to campus and saw me teach, I told Jean, ‘being a telepath means that you will face constant suspicion.’ People look at me either way. They wonder if I cheated to get my doctorate. They wonder if I force the kids to be good when we go out in public. They wonder if my students have good grades because I feed the answers to them.” He shook his head, mildly amused. “The fact that I am with _Magneto_ will be more fuel to the fire, but it won’t even slightly start that fire. You’ll just have to do what I do. Work to show them who you really are, regardless of what pre-formed views they have of you.” He sat up, leaning over to kiss Erik’s shoulder.

“I’m not moving to Harvard,” he told him against his skin, not pulling back for a moment. Erik relaxed, leaning back a little to increase the contact, and Charles rested his chin on Erik’s shoulder. “I’d thought about it. Moira knows that. Once you had regained full custody of the kids, I was thinking strongly about moving, either back to London or to Harvard to take that position. It would have been…” he cleared his throat, pulling back slightly. “Desperately painful to be that close to the three of you without actually being here, running across your minds by accident and being reminded repeatedly of what I no longer had, even if I didn’t have to see you in person. My range, as I told you the other night, is extensive. I couldn’t have lived in New York without feeling you.”

“I can see that.” Erik reached back behind him, stroking a hand through Charles’ hair. “If the situation was reversed, I’d do the same thing. I wouldn’t be able to see you with them and know what I’d lost.” He turned his head, kissing Charles’ temple. “But you’re not going now. Okay. I’m sorry, she just mentioned it and it made me think. Until you neatly made me stop thinking.” He grinned and Charles laughed, leaning up and kissing him softly.

“I’ll be here as long as you’ll let me be. You don’t have to worry about that.” He pressed a gentle kiss into Erik’s neck, then flopped back into bed and swept the blankets around him. “Now go collect our kids while I continue to bask in my afterglow,” he ordered, wiggling up against Erik’s back playfully.

Erik laughed. “You’re the worst kind of person,” he informed him, getting up, then leaned over and kissed him gently. “Thank you,” he murmured, and forced himself to stand and head downstairs, flicking the keys to him with a crook of his finger.

He wasn’t sure he even knew how to handle being so happy.

* * *

_You want to meet us at the park?_ Charles texted around three in the afternoon a day or so later.

Erik stretched, standing from the couch, where he had been binging _Criminal Minds_ all afternoon. _That sounds good. You want me to head out now?_

Charles chose to call rather than answer, and his voice was fighting laughter when Erik picked up. “Yes, I know you do. I _know,_ darling-- hello, Erik. I just picked up our children from school and Wanda, it seems, chose to levitate a jug of milk over another girl’s head and pour it on her.”

“She deserved it!” Wanda protested in the background. “She’s mean!”

“Yeah!” Pietro, as always, agreed staunchly. They fought each other, but if other people got involved, they always stayed on the same side.

 _Our children._ Erik closed his eyes with a smile. He always liked the sound of that, coming out of Charles’ mouth. Even now, after hearing it and even saying it himself, he loved it. “Did she now? Well what did the girl do to deserve this retribution?”

“She told on Pietro!” Wanda’s voice was scandalized.

“For _cheating_ on his assignment,” Charles pointed out, patiently. “If you cheat, sometimes people will catch you. You have to get in trouble for that, those are the rules.” His attention returned to Erik. “So I’m taking your small felons to the park to have a talk about responsibility and powers. I know that’s not exactly your forte, but I’m dragging you into this.”

“Yeah, not sure how successful I will be at _that,_ but I will at least stand behind you and nod importantly.” Erik laughed and headed out, locking the door. “I can say helpful- sounding things like ‘listen to your papa’ and ‘there are always consequences.’ You know, dad stuff that could technically mean anything. Remind me to buy Wanda a dessert for a totally unrelated reason, though.”

“ _Erik._ You can absolutely not reward them for this kind of behavior.” He was fighting a laugh again though, and it was such an oddly encouraging sound. “Wanda, love, leave the ducks alone! They aren’t like Mr. Beans, they don’t want you! _Pietro, put the duck down right this moment!”_

“Oh my god he’s holding a duck.” Erik laughed and started jogging. “I told you a few days ago- our children are beasts. On that count, I’m not sure Mr. Beans always wants Wanda. It’s more like tolerance. And come on, Charles, she was defending her brother. She gets points for that.”

“She wouldn’t have to defend him if he wasn’t doing things he wasn’t supposed to. _Pietro,_ you can’t use your speed to snatch up unsuspecting animals! Erik, these kids-” he broke off sharply, then his voice became more distant, as if he was lowering his phone. “Wanda, Pietro, come here _right now,_ get away from him.”

Something in Charles’ tone had changed and it sent ice down Erik’s spine. He broke into a run, pushing off the ground with every last scrap of power he had, propelling himself with the plumbing and rebar in the ground beneath him. “Charles, what’s happening?”

“You need to leave,” Charles said shortly, sharply, and Erik knew with a jolt he wasn’t speaking to him, but to someone else, to a _threat._ “You-” his next words, if he had them, were lost in the sound of gunshots, echoing faintly in the air around Erik as well as through the phone. He could hear the kids scream, and then there was a crack and silence on the other end of the phone.

Erik’s voice cracked as he screamed their names, launching himself forward toward the sound of the shots. No, no, no. Not now, not his _children,_ not _Charles._

He was at the park, halfway across the street, when he saw Charles sprawled on the ground, red soaking slowly and steadily across his blue sweater. He was motionless, one hand extended out limply on the ground, and Erik had just almost reached him when there were hands on him, throwing him to the middle of the street.

The kids were _nowhere,_ Charles was bleeding out, but there were hands on him, yanking his arms behind his back as something hard and cold and _not_ metal locked around his wrists. He struggled, trying to break the cuffs, trying to reach Charles, as everything spun. He could tell that his power was going insane even with the collar, metal screaming around him, but he couldn’t care less what effect he was having on the environment around him. The children weren’t here, they weren’t anywhere, Charles was bleeding, he wasn’t moving, _where were the twins?!_

Erik was slammed to the ground again, vaguely aware of flashing blue and red lights and sirens, and then something heavy connected with his head before the entire world went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well goodness, that was exciting! 
> 
> Also- I know we have a few dual readers between this piece and Tame You. Az's family is more relevant if you've read the latest chapter.
> 
> Love you all and hope to see your comments!


	12. I Need You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik wakes up in the police station and makes his move to get his kids back.

Erik blinked into awareness slowly, a dim, pale room swimming gradually into view. The first thing he was made faintly aware of was that they must have turned the suppression collar all the way up. He couldn’t feel any metal anywhere around him. Even the change in his pocket had been taken out and he couldn’t feel an echo of metal, not even a ghost of its existence anywhere even though he was clearly in a building, so that was impossible. He was sitting in a wooden chair, handcuffs that looked and felt like plexiglass locking his wrists into place on the arms.

“Look who’s up.” The voice was familiar, but deeply less friendly than he’d ever heard it, and Erik’s attention was drawn to Agent Summers, standing in front of him, scowling hatefully down at him. Agent Munoz was standing against the back wall, arms crossed and eyes on Erik. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing here by taking out your competition. You couldn’t possibly think we’d let you just run off after you arranged to have the kids _abducted._ Who did you arrange to have do it? Azazel, taking them to Shaw?”

“You could have done that _without_ shooting the professor,” Munoz said tightly. “You sick bastard.”

Erik opened his mouth, felt like he was going to throw up, and tried to breathe through it. He’d forgotten what this level of suppression felt like. “Abducted,” he managed to repeat, trying to piece things together. “So you haven’t found them. Is Charles alive?” He looked up at them, fear lancing through him and cutting through the mental fog and nausea from the collar. He could remember all too clearly the brightness of the blood, the limp form of his partner. “Is he alive? Where is he?”

“Why in the hell would we tell you that? You’re the one who arranged to have him shot in the first place!” Summers glared at him and Erik stared, the insanity of such a thing too much for him to properly process. “You’re going to rot in jail, Lensherr. I knew that offering you a deal was a bad move, and now those kids are in danger.”

“Where did you have them taken?” Munoz pushed off the wall, placing a hand briefly on his partner’s arm. “You’re not going to be there to collect them. They’re going to be alone. They’re going to be scared. They could get caught in the crossfire when MAD goes to take Shaw in. They could get hurt. You’re going to be hidden, your teleporter isn’t going to be able to come get you. You need to tell us where they are.”

Someone had taken Wanda and Pietro and had shot Charles.

Someone had Wanda and Pietro right now.

Even through his druggy haze, he could feel rage, pounding through his head hard enough to give him a headache. They had his children and they had tried to kill his partner. They might have succeeded. “I didn’t take them, I didn’t shoot him,” he said through gritted teeth, pulling on his bindings. They were right that if it had been Shaw, Pietro and Wanda could be hurt. And if anyone but Erik came for them, it could be dangerous. Wanda’s power was difficult at the best of times. “Tell me if he made it and let me go.”

Munoz’s eyebrows raised high and Summers laughed. “Sure,” he agreed scathingly. “Let the terrorist go so he can claim the kids he abducted. That’ll happen.”

“Logan, what’s going on with McTaggert?” Munoz asked, pressing a finger to his earpiece as he turned away from them. Summers glanced after him and Erik took the moment to look down at his seat. The chair was wood, was stable, but he was strong. If he hit it in the right way, it could splinter.

He had to get the kids. If MAD went after them, Wanda could panic. Pietro could run. Shaw could use them as hostages or hurt them. They could get caught in the crossfire. The agents weren’t wrong. The kids were _definitely_ alone and scared, but these agents going after them wasn’t the answer. Erik needed to get loose. He needed to-

His train of thought screeched to a distinct halt and he stopped his movements, shocked into stillness as Summers abruptly moved, pulling a suppression collar from his pocket and locking it, suddenly and smoothly, around the throat of his partner. Munoz looked around, moving back a step rapidly.

“Alex, what the fuck?!” He raised a hand to pull it off, one hand raising as if to grab his gun or maybe just the collar release button on his hip.

The door swung open, slamming into the opposite wall, and both agents froze in place as Charles stepped into the room slowly. He had a large scuff on his left cheek, and there was a puff of bandaging beneath his t-shirt, but he was alive, staring intensely at the agents.

“Get out,” he ordered, voice low, and both removed their weapons, set the guns down quickly, and turned on their heels, first Summers and then Munoz. Munoz paused a brief second as he passed Charles back out through the doorway, dropping a sleek black remote and a key into his hand. Charles spared a second to watch them, then moved forward, unlocking the plexiglass cuffs on Erik’s wrists with sharp motions. Erik caught sight of a bare, pale neck, but was distracted when Charles raised the remote and pressed a button on it.

Instantaneous relief.

Erik let out a breath of relief as the metal and rubber released, falling off his throat. He grounded himself, focusing on the struts in the cement beneath his feet, the nails and screws and rivets that surrounded him as the same sensation of having that barrier removed washed through him. He could breathe, the curtain was thrown back, the world made sense.

He didn’t have the time to enjoy it right now.

“I need you,” Charles said without preamble, meeting his eyes with hard, dark blue irises. But his hands skimmed across Erik’s cheeks and shoulders with a clumsiness and softness that contrasted with the steadiness of his tone as he confirmed to himself that Erik was unharmed.

“You’ve got me,” Erik agreed, making himself push everything down, all the panic and fear and relief and pain down away from him. He needed to think clearly. Erik stood quickly, wrapping his arms around Charles to steady him, careful of his wound but just _so glad_ to have Charles alive and warm in his arms. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” The words were almost bitter. “I lost them, Erik. I lost them and I don’t know where they are. I didn’t have that _goddamn_ button because I gave it back to Hank, because I was a fucking idiot and I wanted to make sure this was done the _right_ way and I wasn’t able-” he stopped himself, taking in a sharp breath. “Why would they take them?” He pulled back slightly, staring up at him with a mix of fear, panic, and more than a hint of self-loathing. “We need to go, we need them back.”

“We’re going to get them back.” Erik ran his fingers along Charles’ arm. “It’s going to be fine, we will get them back. They’re going to be okay, but we need to get to them before anyone else does and we need to go right now. We’ll talk about it once we’re moving, we’ll figure it out.” He needed to move. If MAD was on the trail somehow, if they attacked, Wanda and Pietro were trapped in the middle. “It wasn’t your fault, Charles. You couldn’t stop it. We’re going to get them back, but who has our children, Charles? Did you recognize them at all?”

“Brotherhood members,” he offered, pulling free and picking up one of the guns that the agents had set down. He handed it to Erik, and Erik quickly took in a breath and let it out, counting the bullets and screws around him as he refocused himself. He couldn’t pull the whole building down. He needed to stay calm. This place wasn’t where his anger needed to be focused, not right now. “A teleporter is the one who took them, but Shaw was the first one to approach them. I only recognize him from the news and your photo, but I’m sure it was him. He’s obviously distinct.”

Shaw had taken them. Erik nodded, taking in a deep breath. “Then I have to go back,” he said, pushing all the fear and rage down where it belonged. “The good news about that is that he won’t kill them, and I know where they probably are. He was a creature of habit. He…” It took serious effort not to destroy everything around him as he thought about his children in Shaw’s hands. “He may run tests on them. It may hurt. I won’t lie to you about that, but he won’t harm them too badly- they’re too valuable. Especially Wanda, and Pietro is her control, so he won’t seriously harm him either. We have time.” He cocked the gun and slid it in the waistband of his jeans. “Let’s get the fuck out of here, I know where to go.”

“Good.” Charles turned, walking briskly out of the station. The scene waiting for them was disturbing and eerie, every single officer lined up and facing the walls blankly. No sound, no motion, no sign of recognition of what was happening. One moved mechanically to hold open the door for them and Charles glanced at him with a brief nod. At the curb, a man climbed out of his car quickly and stood in front of the station, allowing them to take it without a word. Erik kept going, thinking in awe that _this_ was what beyond Alpha-class looked like as he caught a glimpse through the windows of the MAD agents in the office crumpling, dropping to the floor like marionettes whose strings had been cut. The police officers remained standing.

The level of power would be frightening if it weren’t so useful, if it weren’t being wielded in defense of their children.

They got into the car without a word and started driving, and it was like Charles was playing a siren that Erik wasn’t able to hear. Every car ahead of them pulled neatly to the curb, allowing them to pass without waiting for anything. The red lights weren’t an issue either, everyone merely remaining in place until they had passed.

As such, Erik was able to keep the pedal to the floor almost the entire time. He had never seen a truly powerful telepath, he realized now. He had seen strong ones, talented ones- Emma Frost was incredible- but nothing like this. It was beautiful and seamless and made Erik _very_ glad that Charles was on his side. He couldn’t imagine having that kind of power, that kind of breathtaking ability and having to contain it all the time. No wonder Charles so often had a headache. He was honestly shocked that they had been able to contain him at all with the collars.

“The teleporter,” Erik said after a while of silence, during which he had been ticking through things in his head, formulating plans and analyzing threats that they could face. He had no doubt Charles was listening and following along, and it didn’t bother him in the slightest. Charles at least registering what he was thinking was incredibly useful, especially in situations like this. “You said it was-”

“It was Azazel,” Charles confirmed softly, though there wasn’t as much empathy in the words as there normally would be. “He stood apart from Shaw, and didn’t speak. Shaw shot me and the kids panicked.” He was silent for a moment, hands curling into fists, then, “He grabbed them immediately and all four vanished.”

Erik nodded shortly, trying not to focus on that. He couldn’t. Azazel was not his, not really. They had been friends. The only friend that Erik had ever had, actually closer to a sibling than just a friend, but Azazel was with Shaw and he couldn’t refuse a direct order any more than Erik could have back when he was part of this. No matter how reluctant Azazel might be, no matter what he had done to keep the existence of Erik’s children quiet until now, he had to do what it took to keep himself safe, and as long as Azazel hadn’t hurt his children, he could forgive him for that. Eventually. Maybe.

Erik had been waiting, had been ready, for them to attack him, to hurt him. Not Charles and the twins. Not his family. He had been stupid to think that they were safe, that they would be spared. _Especially_ if Shaw had been watching for any length of time and managed to discover just how powerful Wanda was… and if he had realized just how important Charles was to Erik. Erik’s eyes flicked to Charles. “How much pain are you in? We need to stop and get you painkillers before we go much further. We can’t afford for you to be distracted, I need your help.”

“I turned off the pain receptors.” He stared out the window, fingers brushing his temples briefly. “Normally I use it to manage hangovers, but it works all the same. We’re not stopping anywhere. How long will it take us to get there, where are they?”

“They’re in Washington,” Erik gritted his teeth, frustrated with his partner’s stubbornness but understanding it regardless, and Charles’ expression tightened. 

“We need to go faster. Drive us to Queens.” He pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and dialed a number quickly, raising it to his ear. The dial tone rang twice before connecting, a man’s low, cheerful voice emanating from the little machine.

“Savior of the known world speaking, how can I help you?”

“I’m calling in a favor.” Charles didn’t move, staring sightlessly out the window still as cars shuttled rapidly out of Erik’s way, all moving in seamless choreography, no one hitting each other, no one showing any signs of alarm.

“Charles? Sure thing, what do you need? Date, Christmas presents, a new library?” the man laughed and Erik side-eyed the phone for a minute, trying to place the voice- then it clicked. Of course, he’d heard that arrogant voice, that laugh. He knew who it was. “You know, I was working on-”

“I need to borrow Peter’s car,” Charles interrupted shortly. “And I need to fly it to Washington in under three hours time. Can it do that?”

“Of course it can, who do you think made it? Justin Hammer?” A laugh, and then a slight frown to Tony Stark’s voice when it spoke next, along with clicking like a keyboard. “I’m actually getting some weird reports out of Manhattan, Xavier. What’s going on? I’m in Mexico right now, but if you need me-”

“I just need the car,” Charles disagreed. “I have someone with me, I’m not doing anything reckless. Can you have Peter be ready for us?”

“Yeah,” he agreed, voice frowning. “Sure thing. This discussion isn’t over though, Charles.”

“I’ll call you once this is done and explain further. Thank you for the loan.” Charles hung up and gave Erik a new address quickly, fingers tapping rapidly on his knee as the cars continued parting for them, pulling off to the curbs.

Erik reached over, taking Charles’ hand and squeezing it gently, keeping the car steady with his gift as he tried his best to impart some kind of comfort. “We’re going to get them back,” he said quietly, not looking away from the windshield. “They’re going to be okay. We will get them back, and they’ll be fine. The worst, they’ll be hurt and scared, but we can take care of it. He won’t kill them. He’s not an idiot. He knows the power they have.”

Charles’ hands locked around his, tightening a little, and he forced a small nod. “All that matters is that we get to them as quickly as possible.” His teeth ground together. “If I hadn’t had that _goddamn collar_ on, if I had just had the _goddamn_ button, I could have kept them safe, I could have _stopped_ him. If they’re hurt…”

“How were you supposed to know something like that would happen? Charles, you can’t be blamed for letting your guard down for a second. It wasn’t your fault. It was MAD.” Anger rolled in his stomach as he glared out the windshield. “They collared you in the first place. You told them it would be hard to keep the kids safe and those MAD assholes didn’t listen. All of this is their fault.”

Charles’ hand held onto Erik’s almost tight enough to hurt. “I need them safe, Erik,” he whispered, focusing up on him. “I don’t know what I’ll do if they’re not. I’ve never felt so out of control in my life. They _have_ to be safe. And they’re probably so frightened right now, in some strange place with frightening mutants and the last thing they saw was me being _shot.”_

“I know.” Erik took a deep breath. “I know. They’re terrified, there’s no way to deny that. But they’re strong, and they’re brave, and they have each other. They’ll take care of each other. He won’t hurt them badly, Charles. I don’t think he would risk that, not with how strong they are. Wanda is unbelievable, Pietro is incredibly in control of his gift and-” He took a deep breath. “And he functions as her leash besides, and they _both_ function as a leash for me. I don’t think he would risk truly hurting them.” Erik took in a deep breath. 

“Leash,” Charles echoed hoarsely, fingers slacking around Erik’s.

Erik took a deep breath. He had, in the past, been one of the people to pull the leash. “Shaw isn’t stupid.” He felt a little sick. “He isn’t above using people you love against you. Shaw knows there is very little I wouldn’t do normally, but there is _nothing_ I would not do to protect Wanda and Pietro. And Wanda would do whatever someone asked to protect her brother. But Shaw won’t truly hurt them. We have to believe that.” He shook his head quickly. “We will get them, and we can bring them home as long as both of us manage to stay calm long enough to get there.” He squeezed Charles’ hand again. “We will get them back. We’ve both taught them well, you’ve refined their gifts, and they’re as stubborn as their mother ever was. They will be okay and we will take them home.”

Charles nodded, gripping him, and fell silent for the next few minutes.

When they pulled up to an apartment complex, a skinny teenager was waiting outside for them. Honestly, he reminded Erik a bit of a young Charles-- all eyes and messy hair. He had the same soft sort of look as Charles, and was smiling at them brightly as they stepped out of the car in an unreserved way that distinctly reminded Erik of the way his telepath normally smiled, his brown eyes almost sparkling.

“Hi, Dr. Xavier!” He greeted Charles, breath puffing out in a small warm cloud as he gave a quick wave. “Mr. Stark said you were coming to borrow the car? I don’t even know why he gave it to me, he knows I don’t need it almost ever.”

“He wants to keep you safe,” Charles told him quietly, smiling slightly, and the teenager blinked at him.

“Hey, are you okay, Dr. Xavier?” He glanced up at Erik and blinked, eyes widening. “ _Hey,_ you’re…” He took a small step forward, as if to insinuate himself between Charles and Erik, as if his tiny frame could provide any protection for the telepath. Erik felt a small shade of amusement wash through him that he wouldn’t have expected to feel in this situation- the boy was half of Erik’s size and must have weighed ninety pounds at most. What could he honestly do against someone like Erik?

“He’s with me,” Charles assured the boy, catching his shoulder. “Thank you, Peter, but I’m fine. I do need to go, though, can I have the keys?”

“Yeah, sure.” He pulled out a sleek black car key and deposited it into Charles’ hand, still eyeing Erik somewhat warily. “Are you sure you’re okay? If you need help for something-”

“Under no circumstances are you coming with me,” Charles interrupted him immediately, already heading off to a sleek-lined red-and-black SUV. “It’s a school night, go upstairs and study with your aunt.”

“You follow us, I will wreck your life,” Erik agreed instantly, following Charles quickly. The boy was too small, too much like Charles, too _young,_ to be involved anywhere near Shaw. Shaw would snap him into pieces and send him home in a shoebox.

“You’re not doing a good job of convincing me you’re not a supervillain!” The kid called after him as they climbed into the vehicle, and Charles’ tense expression cracked into a small smile as he turned the key in the ignition as Erik snorted.

“It’s no wonder Tony loves him so much,” he murmured, and the lights in the car flickered to life, the LCD screen lighting up.

“ _Hello,”_ an elegant British man’s voice said. “ _You are neither Mr. Stark nor Mr. Parker. Exit the vehicle immediately.”_

“Charles Xavier, override 735546,” Charles said, resting his elbows on his knees. “Flight to Washington on top speed.”

“ _Understood, Professor Xavier. Good to see you again, sir. Where in Washington are we headed?”_

“We’re headed to the Steelbrook Mill,” Erik informed the computer. “Thirty miles east of Port Angeles.”

“ _Noted. Please buckle in for maximum safety.”_

“Thank you, Jarvis.” Charles did as he was asked, and the car _shifted_ around them. It was rather incredible to feel- all the metal moving, whirring, reconnecting and reshaping itself as they sat, held perfectly still in the center of the storm. The metal hummed to Erik happily as it did, and in any other circumstances, he’d be fascinated. But then they were lifting up into the air, the SUV now a small, sleek, two-man plane. The teenager waved to them from the sidewalk, brow furrowed as the plane maneuvered into the air and away from him.

Erik wasn’t even going to ask, right now, why a tiny boy in Queens who was apparently friends with Tony Stark had a car that could turn into a _plane._ That was currently the least of his worries, the least of his problems.

“I don’t trust him, I’m going to freeze him until we’re gone,” Charles muttered, fingers brushing his temple.

“Probably smart,” Erik agreed. The boy was too small and had had that _look_ in his eyes. “This is his _car?_ Why the hell is Stark giving a teenager a car like this?”

“Because Tony Stark loves Peter more than he’s ever loved anyone.” Charles shook his head a little, hands tightening around the bar on the ceiling. “Sees him like a son.”

“Huh.” Erik frowned slightly, running his mind over the edges of the metal, over all the spinning and whirring pieces that made it run. He hadn’t been able to feel machinery whirr in so _long,_ and this was Stark merchandise. It was beautiful, perfect symmetry and power. “Kid seems nice. Reminds me of you.”

He gave a short laugh. “Peter is far better than I will ever be. That kid will be the best of us all, when he grows up.” He fell silent after this, watching the world blur by them as the plane shot through the air, the force enough to press them back into their seats.

It was an hour before the car gave a soft beep. Charles had fallen asleep-- maybe his body had finally given out under the tension of its wound, maybe it was strain from using so much of his gift. Erik didn’t know, but being that his pulse was even and Charles existed in a constant state of sleep deprivation anyway, he fully intended to let him sleep at least an hour and a half out of the two hours remaining. He pulled off his jacket, settling it over the sleeping telepath’s shoulders, and stroked his hair back carefully, chest aching.

Charles was going to blame himself for this. It wasn’t his fault- the moment Shaw knew what Wanda could do, the moment he knew that Erik had betrayed him, he was going to come after both of them. It was Erik’s fault for allowing them free, for not being more explicit in his warnings to Charles about it. This wasn’t his fault.

Erik took a deep breath, glancing at the flight path again and giving the wings a little _push._ They needed to go faster, needed to get there faster. Every moment he didn’t have his children back was a minute that they could be hurt.

The car beeped again and Tony Stark’s face appeared on the LCD screen. He glanced at the sleeping Charles, then at Erik, and arched an eyebrow. “Huh. The kid wasn’t wrong,” he noted, though the volume of the monitor was low enough that Charles didn’t stir.

Erik looked back at him levelly. He wasn’t entirely sure what Stark’s relationship was to Charles, but the familiarity of them with each other said he shouldn’t necessarily ostracise Stark. “It depends on what he was talking about.” He glanced at Charles.

“No, no, it’s fine. As terrorists go, you’re not so bad.” He shrugged cheerfully. “Charles can put you in your place if he needs to, and you’re strong enough to keep him from getting in over his head. Right?”

“Yes,” Erik agreed easily enough. It was true- Charles was one of few who could stand up to him, when he was at full power. “I could.”

“Good. I don’t know what you’re doing. I don’t necessarily need to or want to, though definitely give me a call if he needs bailed out of somewhere. Too pretty for prison, you know? Your business is your business, Charles wouldn’t be engaged in terrorist actions so I don’t have to be worried.” His eyes flickered to something to his left. “Mostly, apparently. Look, I need you to be able to put him in _his_ place if push comes to shove. Are you able to?”

Erik frowned at him. “He’s not the one we need to worry about, Stark. I’ll take care of him, if things go south. Obviously.”

“No, I’m not worried about him being hurt.” He rolled his eyes. “We already established that the two of you together will be safe, which is why I’m not rerouting my vacation.” He lifted what looked like a mimosa in a half-toast, then continued. “But you’ve been around. You’ve seen telepaths, and half the time, they’re not good. Charles has never sank into the dark side of his gift before.” He met Erik’s eyes seriously. “Don’t let him. There’s a reason for why, when telepaths corrupt, they don’t come back from it. If someone as strong as Charles Xavier goes dark and gets used to controlling those around him, it’s going to be a very dangerous game for all involved, MagnetMan.”

Erik looked down at Charles, then nodded a little. He had never seen Charles use his power pre-collar, but from everything he had heard, Charles had kept very much to the right side of his morality. He hadn’t taken away anyone’s free will, until now. Which was fine, he needed to protect his children, but… “I understand what you mean,” he agreed. “I won’t let him go dark. He’s too good for that.”

“Good.” Stark sat back briskly. “Make sure you keep him from going too far and everything will be fine. Don’t go too far yourself, either- he’ll likely be mad at me again if I arrest another one of his friends. And don’t fuck up Peter’s car.” The screen went black again and Erik gave a little laugh, then rested his hand on Charles’ knee, watching out the windshield and praying to any deity that would listen to someone like him that their children would be safe when they managed to get there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *claps to self* You only saw a tinge here, more is coming in next chapter, but this fic is the most I've gotten to play with Dark Charles and it's so much fun because let's be honest, Charles Xavier is ridiculously OP. What do y'all think of him?
> 
> Feedback and comments are loved so so much!!
> 
> ((Also, if you noticed that this chap was posted a bit later than usual- I got a job! Aren't you guys proud? I'm a productive member of society again.))
> 
> ((Also also- we just posted a new Cherik one-shot! Not nearly as fluffy as this though, so you've been warned. *blows kisses because I seriously love you all*))


	13. Leave You in the Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik and Charles find Shaw, Emma, and their kids.

Erik stood, grounding himself with the metal beneath his feet as the plane banked to come down to the ground. He had to hand it to Stark- his machines were impeccably made. Erik wouldn’t actually mind having one of his suits to play with. He glanced at Charles, who was stewing angrily, and focused forward again as the plane touched down.

“Jarvis, stay here and turned on,” Charles ordered as soon as the door opened. He climbed out with that, storming off the plane and across the lawn to the “mill,” which was really just a large building that hadn’t in actuality milled anything in over twenty years. 

He’d woken an hour ago and had been silently furious that he had fallen asleep, the anger, stress, and loathing almost painfully strong as he projected them. He seemed to notice after a few minutes that Erik was feeling the side effects, however, and had managed to stop projecting.

Now it was back in full force, hate and fear and violence crackling through the air like electricity. Erik couldn’t deny that, like the first time he had seen him, it was unbelievably attractive and almost comforting, to know that his normally sweet and docile partner was so willing to get violently protective of their children.

However, he needed to ensure that this was reined in.

“Charles, do what you have to do,” Erik said as he moved to keep up with him. “But stay yourself. Wanda and Pietro need us to be ourselves. They need us. Don’t lose who you are.”

“There’s only six mutants in the house,” Charles said as a reply, apparently overlooking Erik’s warning in light of the urgency of the moment. “Including the twins. They’re unconscious.” His voice hardened even as his face paled, and Erik ground his teeth together. _Unconsciousness_ was different than sleeping. “I can put two of the others- Janos and Azazel- to sleep, but Shaw seems to have some sort of shielding and there’s a telepath. Emma…”

“Emma is a piece of work. Don’t underestimate her.” Emma Frost had caused Erik enough pain that her presence here made him want to destroy every piece of metallic material in the vicinity.

Instead, he sent the doors crashing inward as they reached them and walked through, stepping over Janos’ body in the process. Charles barely spared him a glance. “They don’t know where the kids are, only Shaw or Frost do. I can’t feel him, but she’s-”

“Erik,” Emma’s voice rang out, greeting him softly, and he turned his head to see her lounging in the parlor to their left. She smiled at him, perfect teeth bright as her smile as Charles redirected and stalked into the room ahead of him. She was always so perfectly composed and contained. “It’s been a while. You’ve been too busy playing house to come to work?”

Erik tore metal struts from the wall with a flick of his hand, the pieces whirling into sharp and pointed edges, and she smiled, tilting her head. Erik bared his teeth in a facsimile of a smile. He knew that her other form was strong. His anger was stronger.

She spared Charles a glance, who was watching her with visible loathing, and smiled at him, form flickering into its flawless diamond sheen. “Shields, sweetheart. You’re not getting anything from me.” She waved a hand and Erik forced himself to stay still as the walls and floor _rippled,_ cracking apart around them as violent, dry, blistering heat burst over his skin. It wasn’t real, it was an illusion, she’d done this before… but it never failed to disturb him. He threw one of his razor-like struts and she deflected it easily, the ground beneath him shaking and burning hotter.

And then it was over in a rush, the heat snapping away and the building freezing with a motion by his side. Charles had raised his hand and curled it slowly as Erik watched, almost as if he’d caught an invisible ball that Emma had thrown. He brought his hand back down slowly and splayed his fingers out, and everything rippled back to its untouched form, still and silent around them. Emma’s eyes narrowed.

“So you can keep me out of his head and yours. That doesn’t mean anything. You still can’t get into mine. My shields are diamond, sugar. His little toys can’t hurt me either. Neither of you can.”

Charles laughed, and it was an utterly and distinctly unfamiliar sound, so far from the laughter that always made something in Erik’s chest ache happily. “Is that what you think?” He took a step forward.

“It’s a m- _what the fuck is that?!”_ She scrambled to her feet, the only inelegant move Erik had ever seen her make, and he turned his attention away for just a second to see a monster lumber into the room.

It was the most horrifying creature he’d ever seen. It was shaped like a black bear, although far, far larger with a snout that was far too elongated. It was missing its lips, instead revealing rows upon rows of bare teeth as it growled. Hunks of flesh were missing from its sides, as was one of its eyes, and its claws were so long that they clicked softly on the floor as it prowled towards Emma slowly. It smelled thickly of rot and infection, breath rolling out like decay.

It was impossible not to fear this strange, mutated, predatory creature. It rose on its hind legs, letting out a hoarse and raw roar, and Erik yanked Charles back fast, trying to block him from it.

Emma climbed over the back of the couch quickly and Charles reached out, resting a hand on the bear’s heaving side. He was slim and pale next to the tar-spattered creature, and it shuddered under his hand, breathing hard and baring yellowed, razor-like teeth. Erik realized the truth at the same time that Emma did.

“It’s not real,” she said, a little too quickly, and the bear lumbered forward, slashing at her chest. Her diamond form broke immediately, blood welling up in the gashes that ripped along her collarbone, and she screamed. 

Charles stepped forward and the bear swiped at her again, knocking her into the wall like a rag doll. Charles’ hand was still settled on its bloodied, rotting rib cage, calm and clean as he watched her struggle to her feet. The bear roared at her and knocked her down again, ripping gouges across her cheek before a clawed foot landed on her ribs and pressed down hard.

“Where are our children?” Charles’ voice was cool and dispassionate, nearly as detached as his expression as he watched her. “You have one answer, four limbs, and twenty digits. Which ones would you like to lose?”

Erik wrapped his fingers around Charles’ wrist, staying silent for now. The darkness was necessary, sometimes. Rage and hate pounded through him, and he wanted to lash out and destroy everything, to tear the house to pieces until he found his children. The anger that lived in his chest, thrummed through him like blood, was fuel for some of the most incredible things he had managed to accomplish. He understood Charles’ fury and shared it. “One chance to answer correctly,” Erik said evenly.

“Th-they’re with Shaw,” she answered quickly, eyes locked on the monster bear. It roared, inches from her face, and she let out a whimper, pressing her hand over her mouth as she averted her eyes, tears leaking across her cheek.

“ _Where?”_ Charles snarled as the monster bit down on her shoulder. She scrabbled at it, moving back against the wall.

“Downstairs! Downstairs at the end of the hall, the code is 1876121!”

“Good girl.” Erik pulled on Charles’ wrist gently. “Let’s go. They’re with Shaw, we need to go right now.”

Charles watched her for a moment, then snapped his fingers. The bear vanished, as did the blood coating Emma’s skin, the injuries erased from existence, and Charles focused down on her icily as she patted frantically at her skin to reassure herself that the injuries had only existed in her mind. 

“The only person that you have to fear in all of your life is me, Emma,” he informed her in a hard, cold voice. “Test me again, ever come near my family again, and next time I’ll have the beast eat you and leave you in the black.” He turned sharply, starting down the hall, and Erik felt a smile cross his face, tilting his head down at Emma, the woman who had made him scream and relive his worst nightmares over and over again until he’d done whatever Shaw wanted just to make it _stop._

“How does it feel to be afraid?” Erik asked her quietly now, then headed after Charles, keeping his movements even and calm, trying not to show her just how new and strange and incredible his partner’s power really was to him.

He had never seen anything like it.

If it was anyone but Charles, doing this for any reason _but_ for getting Wanda and Pietro back, Erik would have to do something about it. As was, he felt nothing but a thrill of powerful possessiveness.

Erik caught Charles once they were out of sight, Stark’s warning ringing through him. “I think that’s enough for now,” he said quietly, brushing his hair back. “Let me handle Shaw. I need you to be yourself. I need you to take the twins and make sure they stay calm.”

“I _am_ myself.” A flicker of anger, licking against Erik’s mind like flame, but he seemed somewhat receptive to Erik’s hands on him, not fighting the touch or pushing him off. He was still furious, but at least he wasn't repelling him.

That gave Erik an idea and he leaned forward, brushing his lips against Charles’ slowly. “No, you’re not,” he murmured. “I’m angry, too. But I need you to come back.”

“He needs to pay. He hurt them, he _hurt_ them and took them-” he broke off, heaving out a breath, and Erik nodded, resting his head against Charles’.

“He will pay. And we will get them back. But you’re not the one who’s going to make him.” Charles made an angry noise, starting to pull back, and Erik ghosted his hands down Charles’ arms. “You don’t believe in violence,” he reminded him softly, pressing his lips to his ear. “Don’t do something you can’t come back from. Pull out of the dark and come back to me, _schatz._ Our babies need you.” He pressed his lips against Charles’ again, stroking a hand through his hair slowly. They couldn’t take too much time for this, but he needed to ground his telepath with touch and emotion, remind him who he was. He couldn’t let him fall into the dark. 

Charles shuddered, then slowly leaned into him and returned the kiss softly. He pulled back, his eyes more focused as they met Erik’s. “I’m sorry,” he said gently, pressing his forehead against Erik’s for a moment. “You’re right. Thank you.”

Erik leaned into him a little, resting a hand on his face. “You’re mine,” he said simply. “And we needed the real you back. You just have to do the same for me, if I lose it.” He pulled away. “Now let’s go get our children.”

Charles nodded slowly, then walked with him, leading him down the hall and to the staircase. “Grabbed the blueprint from Janos’ mind,” he said, typing the code in quickly. He looked up at Erik. “I won’t be able to hold Shaw easily, he has some shield in place. You’ll have to be quick or catch him by surprise. Are you ready?”

“I’m ready.” Erik rolled his shoulders, feeling the metal around him and grasping it, holding it. “When you open the door, get out of the way and get behind me. Go straight to them, get them, and move them out here. I don’t want them there.”

“They’re unconscious,” Charles reminded him, then pulled the door open sharply.

Shaw was drinking, sitting casually in a chair. He set the glass down and stood with a smile. “Erik,” he greeted him. “I wondered when you’d come.”

Charles made a sharp, wounded noise from behind Erik and moved into the room, walking slowly forward to sink into a crouch beside two small forms. For a moment, Erik couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, eyes on his children crumpled up on the floor without even a pillow. Both were disheveled and had tear-tracks on their cheeks, and neither moved as Charles touched them.

And then it was nothing but hate.

“What did you do to my children?” Erik stalked forward, pulling metal from everywhere, rage blowing through him in full force now that he didn’t have to worry about Charles and the children were with him. “What the fuck did you do to my children, Shaw?”

“It wasn’t me,” he said mildly. “She lost her control, both of them passed out.”

“You broke his leg.” Charles’ voice was hollow and unsteady, and Erik stilled, unable to breathe as this very simple statement cut him to the quick. “Y-you broke Pietro’s _leg.”_

“Couldn’t have him running off, could I?” Shaw waved a hand. “He’s fine.” He held out a glass for Erik and everything blurred out as Erik _shoved,_ throwing metal at him with a roar of fury. He had broken Pietro’s _leg._

Shaw dodged, ducking and reaching out, the fingers of one hand almost touching Wanda, the other reaching for Charles’ back as the telepath checked over Pietro frantically, pulling Wanda against him.

Erik launched forward, throwing the chair with all of his strength and sending Shaw into the opposite wall, advancing with a snarl. Shaw melted the chair and Erik swept up his arm, utilizing the burning metal the way Shaw had taught him how as he slammed it back into his former master.

Things blurred out a little after that, flashes of metal and blood and burning anger, Shaw’s voice and searing pain as Shaw’s fingers found Erik’s skin. He didn’t care, couldn’t care less. All that mattered was ending this, stopping it, making everything _stop._

“Erik. _Erik.”_ Soft hands on his face, only calloused from holding pens. “Erik, he’s done, he’s dead. Stop. We can go now.”

Erik snarled, his metal flashing to attention, but stopped, taking in a deep breath and shuddering as the bars and balls and corkscrews of metal fell to the ground around them, being careful to miss Charles and the twins. “He’s dead?” Erik asked, leaning forward and resting his head against Charles’, trying to breathe. “Are the kids okay?”

“Still asleep.” He anchored a hand on the back of Erik’s neck, holding him close for a moment. “Come on. Help me carry them out. They don’t need to wake up and see this, and I don’t want to pull them out of sleep until they’re safe.”

“Okay.” Erik leaned into him for another moment, then nodded, pulling away. “Let’s carry them out. Jarvis is waiting, we can get on the plane and take care of them there.”

“I’m going to carry Wanda so you can hold Pietro,” Charles said, dropping his hand and crossing quickly to the children. “I’ve stopped his pain receptors, just- just until we can get him to the hospital, I don’t want him to wake and hurt.”

“Thank you.” Erik gathered his son in his arms, burying his face in Pietro’s hair for a moment. “Can you tell if Wanda’s okay? Is it just exhaustion or burnout, or…?” He straightened and waited for Charles to lift Wanda before they started moving. Erik felt a little sick as he noticed that he had gotten blood on Pietro’s hair and shirt.

Charles held her close, pressing his lips to her temple for a moment as he shut his eyes. “Just burnout,” he said as he pulled back, carrying her quickly down the hall. “She freaked out when they broke his leg, and her power surged. Took down the top floor of the building.” He gave her a tiny squeeze. “It knocked them both out, curiously.”

“That’s strange.” Erik let him lead the way out. “I’m sure when they’re healthy and safe again, you and Hank will make copious notes of that.” His chest ached at the idea that she had seen her brother’s leg break, that she had probably screamed and cried and her power had exploded, that Pietro had probably screamed as his leg had broken. They had probably both wailed for Erik and Charles, had begged them to make it stop.

It made him want to kill Shaw again. 

The twins were safe. They were safe, everything was okay, they were in his and Charles’ arms. He needed to get Pietro to a hospital to get his leg set, and it would be fine after that.

“Your teleporter.” Charles stopped to look up at him. “Would he take us to a hospital?”

Erik paused, then nodded. “Yes,” he said, relaxing. “Yes. Azazel took them, but only because he _had_ to. He’d take us to a hospital.”

Charles didn’t ask if Erik was sure, merely redirected their course to the left. “Jarvis,” Charles murmured, fingers brushing his temple. “We’re getting a teleporter, return to Peter.” He waited for a brief second, and Erik caught a glimpse of Janos returning inside before crumpling again, apparently having been ‘borrowed’ for the purpose of relaying the message. Charles continued across the foyer and opened the door to show Azazel crumpled on the ground. “Wake up,” Charles ordered, and he did, looking around rapidly.

“We need to go to the hospital in upper Brooklyn,” Erik said with no preamble. “Pietro needs a doctor.”

Azazel focused on the boy, standing. Erik was vaguely aware of Charles moving behind him, but focused on Azazel as the red mutant took a deep breath. “Erik, look…” 

“Pardon me,” Charles said, and Erik turned just in time to see Charles sink a punch into Azazel’s eye, knocking him back a few steps. Azazel took a step forward and Charles pressed a finger into his chest. “Don’t you dare touch my kids without our express permission, ever again.” He turned, picking Wanda back up from where he’d laid her down, and Azazel stared at him.

Erik watched his partner fondly. “You are so gorgeous,” he informed him, absolutely certain that he was in love with the man standing there holding his daughter, then shook himself. “Az, that’s karma, so don’t touch him. He’s mine. We need a hospital. Shaw broke his fucking leg. He needs to be seen.”

Azazel was silent for a moment, then gave a short nod and reached out, setting his hands on their shoulders. There was the familiar sensation of compression and heat, and then they were standing in front of the hospital. Charles moved forward immediately, ignoring Azazel, and worked his magic again, nurses rushing to them without pause and taking Pietro from Erik’s arms as they rushed him into the back. 

“Thank you.” Erik squeezed Azazel’s arm, then ran, taking Wanda from Charles and keeping his telepath’s hand so they could run after the nurses and doctors. He didn’t want to be separated from his children or his partner for even a minute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I _know_ this was a short chapter but I wanted to isolate this scene because writing Dark Charles is just my absolute very favorite thing and I don't get enough excuses to spotlight him the way I want to.
> 
> For reference on his bear, you can watch the youtube clip of the bear from Annihilation. That movie was bonkers but man it had some fantastic imagery. Charles' doesn't look the exact same, it's got tar and cuts other things that result from my own fears, etc, but it's the inspiration for it.
> 
> Feedback and comments are my favorite things ever!


	14. Wondering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles and Erik deal with the immediate aftermath of getting the children back from Shaw, and our story winds to a close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end notes for an important question, lovelies!

“Well.” Charles didn’t move, didn’t even open his eyes. His head was dropped back against the wall on the couch next to the hospital bed where they had been for the last three hours. Pietro’s leg had been set into a cast, and Wanda was snuggled up into the bed beside her brother, both resting peacefully. Erik had taken a brief moment to utilize the hospital bathroom and wash all the blood off, and when he had emerged, Charles had somehow procured a set of clean clothing from someone. Azazel had gone to handle the aftermath of Shaw, but had promised to return and see them later.

Charles’ fingers remained loosely twined with Erik’s as they had been the entire duration of their stay at the hospital, their bodies pressed together nearly ankle to shoulder on the couch. “This wasn’t exactly what I had planned for our second date,” he continued after a long moment, and Erik realized belatedly that it was, in fact, Thursday. They had talked about having dates every Thursday, setting a day aside every week.

“I can go down to the cafeteria and buy you dinner.” Erik laughed a little, squeezing his hand gently and turning his head, pressing his lips to Charles’ hair gently. “We do need to eat, once the babies wake up. How are you feeling? You were _shot,_ Charles.”

“Oh,” he said mildly, opening his eyes in surprise. “Shit, I was. I’ve still not turned the nerves there back on.” He pulled his shirt off and looked down at the bloodied bandages there. He pursed his lips. “I probably pulled some stitches,” he mused. “Wasn’t able to feel them tearing… Well, we’re at a hospital, I suppose, I’ll have a nurse help me out.” He dropped his head back against the wall with a chuckle and a smile for Erik as he brushed his thumb over the back of Erik’s hand. 

“I’m going to hurt you,” Erik told him, with no heat and no intention of ever hurting him, and leaned over to kiss him. “I’ll make sure we check you in if we need to, take the antibiotics and get you restitched. I need all three of you safe.”

“You will absolutely not _check me in,”_ Charles informed him, but there was no anger or compulsion behind the words, just tired chastisement. He raised Erik’s hand, pressing his lips briefly to his knuckles, and Erik rested his head against Charles’, letting out a sigh. He was so tired. “I’ll be fine. I promise, I’ll ask a nurse to look it over later. It was mostly a flesh wound, they said. It missed all the organs.”

Erik smiled at him, feeling the same sense of warmth and comfortable and safe stir in him that Charles always woke. “Mm-hmm. I’m going to make sure they look you over, if absolutely nothing else.” He tucked a few curls behind Charles’ ear. “I don’t have to worry about any of you now. Thank god. They’re safe, you’re safe, I don’t have to panic.”

“No, you don’t,” Charles agreed, squeezing his hand. Then he sighed, his smile fading. “Although I will have to face the police here soon. They’ll realize where we are before too long.” He glanced out the window.

“Yes.” Erik looked at the children still sleeping. “I won’t let them take you or me. MAD will protect you, that’s what they do. You didn’t hurt anyone, and they failed to contain the threat of Shaw, so you had to take control of the situation. I think that Howlett and McTaggert can pay enough people off and make arguments to keep you safe. Maybe we can pull Stark in, god knows he has enough money to pay them off, too.” Erik squeezed Charles’ hand a little tighter. “No one is taking you away, or either of them. I have information I never gave, I have skills. I could barter.”

“Erik.” Charles’s expression was gentle admonition. “I believe in the system. What I did was wrong. I don’t regret it, not even slightly, but that doesn’t change the fact that I took away the free will of hundreds of people to suit my own ends. If there are consequences to that… well, it’s only natural.”

“I don’t care.” Erik shook his head, anger flashing through him at the idea. “You were shot, you weren’t in your right mind. I will fucking destroy them if they try to take you.”

Charles smiled at him, a soft and somewhat bittersweet expression as he tilted his head. “What I wouldn’t have given to have met you when I was younger,” he reflected idly, tracing his fingers across the back of Erik’s hand. He shook his head, looking away with a more contented smile. “God, your mind is so beautiful without the collar on to muffle it. I’m shocked that Emma never tried to get closer to you, just to be near it.”

Wanda made a small noise, stirring, and raised a clumsy hand into the air as if trying to catch at something. Both men were standing in an instant, leaning over the bed as Erik caught her hand and Charles rested his on her ankle.

“Hey, baby,” Erik said quickly, brushing her hair back. “Hey, Wanda, baby. We’re here. Me and Papa both.”

She made a pitiful noise, opening her eyes a crack and peering up at them. “Pietro…” her voice wobbled and Charles moved around to her other side, stroking her hair back.

“He’s fine, sunflower, he’s right here.” He caught her other hand and drew it to Pietro’s, and she started to cry large, gulping, heartbreaking sobs. Erik felt his own heart break as he stroked her hair, trying desperately to think of anything he could do, anything he could say, to make her feel better. 

There was nothing.

Charles stared at her, stricken, then glanced at Erik. _I could take it away,_ he projected in a half whisper, and Erik looked down at her, then nodded. 

_Take it away,_ he agreed quietly. _They don’t need to remember that. They don’t need the pain or the fear, they don’t need those memories. Change it. Can you change it? Maybe Pietro ran into something, broke his leg tripping over the cat. Take it away from them._

Charles nodded, settling a hand on her head, and she gradually calmed down, settling into hiccups and then sleep again. Charles moved his hand to Pietro’s head next, stroking the pale locks back with the utmost care. He straightened, wavering on his feet slightly. “They’re going to think that he ran off a ledge and fell,” he said, coming back around to rest his hands on Erik’s shoulders.

Erik supported him, helping him sit on the small couch, and pulled a pillow off the other chair. “Sleep,” he said quietly, pulling off his jacket and settling it around Charles’ shoulders. “You’ve been awake for hours and using an unbelievable amount of power. The only recharge you had was barely any time. Sleep. I’ll be here, and I’ll take care of all of you.”

“You need to rest too,” Charles pointed out, but looked even more exhausted than he usually did, putting almost no conviction into the protest as he allowed Erik to move him around. “You should sleep so you’re awake when they are.”

“I will.” Erik pushed him gently to lay, pressing his lips to Charles’ eyebrow. “I’ll sleep when things settle, but for now, you’re the one with injuries. Sleep, _schatz._ I will wake you when they wake, I’ll wake you if anyone comes.” He leaned down and kissed him gently. “Everyone’s safe now.”

Charles settled down without further protest, but caught Erik’s hand when he started to move away, looking up at him with bloodshot, bleary blue eyes. _Thank you for stopping me. If we sink too far down, we can’t get back up. When you start misusing telepathy, you can’t just go back to normal easily._

Erik crouched and kissed him with a warm smile. “I’d never let you sink,” he promised him, stroking his hair back. “But you’re welcome. Stark called while you were sleeping and said something about that, let me know how hard it is for telepaths to go back. I never knew. I always just thought they kept their choice to be assholes.”

_Tony’s always meddling._ His eyelids drooped. _He probably just didn’t want to have to try to take me in if I went crazy. It’s just… that level of control and power over others is like a drug. After a while you don’t even know you’re using, you don’t realize how you’re acting is wrong, you don’t… get it anymore. It’s such a slippery slope. But I’m glad he warned you. I’m glad you did anchor me. I’m sorry if the bear was too much._

“You protected our children.” Erik smiled down at him. “The bear was scary as hell, and Emma deserved to be scared for once. Go to sleep, Charles. It’s all okay. We made it out safely.”

_Okay._ His eyes sank fully shut and he was asleep in seconds, body relaxing into the couch. Erik rested his head against the cushion, taking in a deep breath and listening to his family sleep peacefully.

Charles had quietly and quickly become someone central to his life without him knowing it. He had become Erik’s partner in truth, leaning on him for support and giving support in return. Erik wasn’t sure when the transition had started, how they had ended up here from where they had begun, but… he felt more secure and confident in this partnership than he had felt in any relationship he could recall. Charles had found his way into Erik’s heart, occupying the spaces that the twins didn’t take up, and it felt comfortable and safe. It felt right.

He looked up at Charles and smiled a little, brushing his curls back. His power had been exhilarating to witness, shocking, a little frightening, as it had the right to be… but mostly, Erik had simply had the confidence to know that Charles would have never taken other people’s free will if their children had not been in danger. He knew for a fact that he had only done it to get to them quickly. He watched Charles for a long moment, considering the future that they could have. 

They could help raise their children to be strong and bright and powerful, but kind, like Charles. Charles would give them the softness that Erik lacked, help rein in the tempers that they had inherited from both their mother and their father. They could be together, have a family that was built on trust and understanding and support, something Erik hadn’t ever had. They could get married someday and Charles could adopt the twins and their little family would be complete, permanent. Safe and strong.

He moved to tuck in the twins carefully, brushing their hair back and taking comfort in their warmth and gentle breathing, their arms wrapped around each other. Wanda’s sobs still rang in his ears, but it was okay. As long as it was Erik and Charles who had to carry the memories, it was okay. The twins didn’t need to remember. They could be safe and happy and believe it was an accident. They’d think of something to tell the kids, if they noticed Charles was injured.

There was a soft crack and the smell of smoke, and Erik looked around, tensing a little and relaxing when he saw that the teleporter was alone.

“ _Kak oni?”_ Azazel asked, accented voice quiet.

“Charles took the memories.” Erik brushed Wanda’s hair back gently. “Wanda woke up and started sobbing. I couldn’t do it and neither could Charles, so he took the memories. They think Pietro ran off a ledge and fell. They don’t need to remember what happened.” He stroked Pietro’s cheek, following the curve of his cheek. “So they’re okay, now. Exhausted, but they’re okay. Thank you for getting us here quickly. I couldn’t have waited. I would have lost my mind.”

Azazel was silent for a minute, shifting uncomfortably, then, “He said he wasn’t going to hurt them. That he just wanted you back.”

“Defying a direct order would have just gotten you killed and Pietro’s leg would still be broken.” Erik sat on the edge of the bed. He had no doubt in the truth of Azazel’s excuse. Shaw knew better than to tell Azazel the truth about what he wanted. Obeying orders was one thing- killing or allowing children to be hurt was something different. “Charles punched you. There’s your karma.” He grinned a little, tiredly. _He was so beautiful when he did it, too._ So powerful and protective. “I know what Shaw was like. I don’t hate you for it, Az. I’m pissed at the situation, at Shaw. I did shit I shouldn’t have done when he asked.” He had done things that still gave him nightmares sometimes. “I know you shielded us as long as you could, and the end could have been worse. If they’d been hurt worse, this conversation might be different, but they’re okay. A broken leg isn’t so bad, in the end.”

Azazel nodded, his posture relaxing somewhat as his tail flicked against the ground. “Is he still pissed?” He nodded at Charles’ sleeping form.

Erik glanced at his partner and smiled. “I don’t know. He may be, or he may think that his justice has been served. We didn’t talk about it, but he knows your intentions weren’t malicious, and he’s forgiving. There’s no lasting harm to the twins, so… his anger may be sated for now.”

Azazel nodded and let out a breath, running a hand over his slicked-back hair. “ _Pozvoni mne, yesli tebe chto-nibud' ponadobitsya,”_ he offered finally. “Shaw fought dirty, but the fight itself is still important. Janos and I are going to keep moving forward.”

“Cut out some of the more violent shit, and I might actually be able to get Charles to accept a lot of it.” Erik smiled a little. Azazel was the only friend he really had. While there was a part of him that was still angry, he knew what it was like to be under Shaw’s spell. Erik had done things just as bad during his time. “Don’t do anything crazy and I may bring the twins around on occasion.”

He chuckled. “You told me once that insanity is a matter of perspective, _tovarishch,”_ he reminded him, and popped back out of existence, leaving Erik to watch his little family sleep.

* * *

It was only a few hours after that Pietro woke, his sleepy voice drawing Erik out of his dozing state in the chair beside the bed and couch. His son reached for him, clearly confused about where he was and why he was there, and Erik moved forward quickly, catching his hand.

“Hey, buddy.” He squeezed the little fingers, kissing his son’s forehead. “Hey, baby, how do you feel?”

Pietro frowned up at his father, lower lip puffing out a little in the sweetest pout. Erik was struck afresh with affection and relief that he was himself and calm, that he didn’t have to remember the horror of the abduction. “I fell down,” he reported, eyes wide and surprised as he looked around at his leg.

“You did.” Erik patted it very carefully. “You won’t be able to run very well for a little while, until your papa says that you can. But we’ll all draw on the cast, and your friends at school can sign it for you. Which is pretty cool. It’s green. That’s your favorite color.”

Pietro paused, the surprise turning to alarm. “But— but will it come off?!” He twisted around to stare up at Erik in horror. “I’ll be able to run soon?!”

“Yes, of course.” Erik sat on the bed, pulling Pietro into his lap and hugging him tightly. “It may be a while before you run, I don’t know. You’ll have to talk to Papa, he and Hank can do some tests and then explain how long. But you will run again, just as fast as you ever did. And then you and Papa will dance and it will be good.” He kissed Pietro’s hair. “Don’t worry, buddy. It’ll come off eventually.”

He relaxed back into Erik’s chest and looked down at his sister, then reached out and patted her hair. “Is Wanda okay? How come she’s sleeping?”

“She got really scared when you fell,” Erik explained gently. He knew that he needed to keep the alternate story close to the original, just in case fragments resurfaced. The mind would assimilate true memories into a narrative that made sense and was similar, but not one wildly off course. Although, Charles might be strong enough that it wouldn’t matter. “Wanda used her powers a lot, and she’s really tired now. Just let her sleep, she’ll wake up soon and be very happy to see you. Does your leg hurt?” Erik hugged him a little.

“No,” he replied, snuggling into Erik’s shirt, and he felt more of the tension in his chest unwind.

* * *

They had just gotten the kids home and sent them up for baths when MAD finally showed up, Agent Summers striding in first with Agent Munoz following behind him. Charles exchanged a glance with Erik, setting his cup aside, and stood as Moira came in as well, trailing behind the agents.

“Charles,” she greeted him quietly. “Erik.”

Erik moved to stand beside Charles, tense. “What do you want?”

“There were hundreds of reports,” Moira said, slightly impatiently. “It was on the _news,_ they thought it was some new supervillain doing something nuts or some mutant manifesting. Charles, you broke your collar off, knocked me out, left a hospital, broke a high-security threat out of custody, assumed control of an _entire_ police station including six MAD agents, and then invaded at least two hundred minds who were _driving._ And that’s not even to mention whatever you did after that to get the kids back.”

“Yes,” Charles agreed, folding his hands behind his back. “This is all very true.”

Erik felt fury boil under his skin at that. They weren’t about to just let this be all Charles’ fault. “Because _you_ people couldn’t manage to keep Shaw from shooting him and abducting our children. And then I was attacked by your police before I could do anything.” Erik crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m the only person who knew where the kids were, Charles had no other choice but to get me. No one innocent was hurt. He was careful about that.”

“Your other choice was to trust MAD to do their job!” She gestured to the agents. Summers watched them carefully as Munoz leaned back against the counter. “We had a plan in place! We weren’t going to just leave them!”

Charles nodded. “I understand. I panicked, and unfortunately, my panic is a little more effective due to my mutation. I should, perhaps, have waited for MAD to find Shaw. I do feel remorse for invading so many minds, but I don’t feel regret. Wanda and Pietro are safe and home, and I don’t know if that would have been the case if I had waited.”

Moira rubbed her forehead, opening and shutting her mouth for a moment, then, “You get that, at the _very_ least, I’ll have to revoke your foster license, don’t you?”

Erik could feel a flicker of panic, bright and potent, against his mind, but Charles merely nodded, taking a deep breath without the panic showing on his face. “I understand,” he agreed quietly.

Erik narrowed his eyes at them, his mind working quickly. “Do _I_ get my children? They’re not going back in the goddamn foster system. They got lucky the first time and managed to find Charles, but I’m not rolling the dice again.”

_If they let me have the kids, it’s okay,_ Erik assured Charles quickly. _They wouldn’t be fostered with you, they’d be living with me technically._

She looked between the two of them, hesitating, a torn expression on her face. “Charles,” she began slowly, cautiously. “I really don’t… _want_ to be suspicious, but Erik was definitely ambivalent if not outright hostile to you and now that your collar’s off, he’s defending you?”

“Excuse me?” Charles stared at her, Erik glaring as metal whined around them. He hadn’t shown Moira any of the building affection he’d been feeling for Charles, he’d been too used to hiding his emotional ties so they couldn’t be used against him. Charles had been outright about his affection… but Erik had not.

“Charles, you know what I’m asking you.” Moira looked faintly miserable.

“You think I’m controlling him?” Anger flashed across Charles’ face and he took a small step forward as Erik snapped German curses furiously. “That I’m just _cracking_ into his mind like ‘ _every’_ telepath does, forcing things to go my way? Because that’s all people like me do? I could just make you _leave,_ Moira, could erase all of this from your mind so you wouldn’t even have reason to _be_ suspicious!”

“Hey, now.” Summers raised a hand, taking a step forward. “You need to calm down. It’s a reasonable question under the circumstances.”

“It’s not,” Erik snarled. “Ask Jean Grey. We’ve been dating for a week, together for a full week, before they were abducted and the collars were off. That’s a shitty thing to accuse a telepath of, _especially_ one like Charles.” He was mildly aware of the pots behind him twisting in on themselves, but he didn’t care. “We hated each other and then _you_ forced us to spend time together. Once we did that, we realized we had things in common and enjoyed each other’s company. That’s not that weird, and it’s not manipulation.”

“Isn’t Jean Grey your brother’s girlfriend?” Munoz muttered to his partner, who pressed his lips together. Moira took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry, I had to ask, considering the circumstances. Look… we’ll need to interview the kids and there will be an investigation before a decision is made. Erik, being that you fulfilled your end of the bargain, the kids are officially released into your custody as of today.” She pulled a paper from her purse and held it out for him. “Any criminal acts on your part will henceforth be new and no longer protected by the clemency of your past actions. The station also wanted to apologize for arresting you after the abduction- they were unsure if it was a setup.”

Erik took it, relaxing very slightly. They weren’t going to take the children, they could stay here, he didn’t have to have anxiety about them constantly for however long it would be before they gave them back.

Not that they would have gone far with his babies. He would get the twins and Charles and disappear and leave nothing in his wake but destruction. They wanted to treat him like a threat, he would _be_ a threat. 

“All right,” Erik said, folding the paper carefully and trying to stay calm. The kids were staying with him, it was fine. “They _should_ apologize for beating the shit out of me, but I think it would be nice of them to apologize by dropping the investigation on my partner.” He focused on the agents. “You can check me out of the hotel. The kids like their bedroom, so I’ll be staying here, and their residence will remain here.”

The agents exchanged a look, and then Munoz gave a small nod. “If Dr. Xavier is fine with you remaining with them on the premises, that is his choice. We don’t have an issue with that. But…” he glanced at Summers, and Erik felt Charles’ hand press against his back, soothing and light, as the blonde stepped forward.

“Dr. Xavier, we’ll need you to wear a collar again for the duration of the investigation.”

“I understand,” Charles agreed, dropping his hand from Erik’s back. “Will I be permitted to say goodbye to the children?”

“What?” Erik frowned hard. “Where are you going? Why do you need to say goodbye?”

“Custody, Erik,” he stated lightly. “I’ll be taken to a jail or prison of some sort until they decide what to do with me.”

“Please don’t read my mind.” Summers grimaced, pulling a collar from his pocket. “It’s very unsettling.”

“Watch how you speak to him,” Erik growled, tense and angry, catching Charles’ hand. “He’s not a fucking threat. He was protecting his children.”

_Erik, I’ve been collared before,_ Charles soothed quietly as the agent rattled off some bullshit excuse that Erik tuned out, half his attention on Charles and the other half on the metal in the room. It was definitely enough to win if it came to a fight, although they were almost certainly mutants as well… _Stop that, you’re not going to attack two MAD agents and our social worker. I already did that. We knew this was a possibility last night at the hospital._

_That doesn’t mean it’s okay._ Erik looked down at him. _Ridiculous, to think you’d do something like that. What are they actually_ investigating? _Some bullshit so they can say they tried?_ He ran his thumb over the back of Charles’ hand. _I don’t like them taking you and collaring you again._

_It’ll be fine, love. I’ll know that you’re here with the kids, safe and happy._ He offered a small smile, blue eyes sweet and sickeningly sincere. _Just in case they do lock me up and throw away the key though, or in case you’ve moved on by the time they do actually release me… I’ve been falling in love with you since the day I kicked you out of the house. The first time you came over for dinner? Your thoughts about the children were so loud and genuine and full of sincerity, not angry for the first time, and I was just floored._ He gave Erik’s hand a small squeeze. Erik stared at him. Charles had been softening toward him since then? Erik couldn’t remember, but he was _fairly_ certain he’d just been pissed. _Just so you know._ Charles released him and stepped up to the blonde agent, taking a deep breath as the man opened up the collar.

Panic, bright and building to an earsplitting crescendo in Erik’s body.

No. Absolutely not, this was _not_ going to happen. He could not let this happen.

Erik could see the next milestone in his life clearly, a call or a letter in the mail announcing that Charles had gotten terribly sick over the weekend, or that he’d gotten into a fight with another inmate. The government Erik had sabotaged so violently for so many years cleaning up yet another potential threat, despite Charles’ history of pacifism and peace, and everything was sharp as he stepped forward, the taste of horror bitter in his mouth.

No. No. _No._

“Stop,” he said sharply, pulling Charles back quickly. Fear battered at him and he shook his head as if his panic was a fly and he was trying to dislodge it. “No, fuck this. I’m not playing with you,” he snapped. “You’re not taking Charles, we’re not playing that game. I’ve seen too many powerful mutants disappear into the system that way, it’s not happening. I’ll make a deal. I can give you people on a platter, people you’ve been looking for, for a long time. But leave Charles out of it. I can handle him.”

“Erik?” Charles looked up at him in surprise. “Darling,” he continued quickly, catching his arm. “You can’t just-” he shook his head wordlessly and Erik shot him a glare. The agents exchanged a look, deliberating, and Moira bit her lip. Charles found his protest in the silence. “The system exists to help normal people stay safe. They can’t just make deals and cut corners, and they’re not going to _disappear_ me!”

“They disappear people all the time, and they absolutely can make a deal or cut a corner to avoid that,” Erik disagreed immediately. MAD could do whatever they wanted to do, whatever they _needed_ to do, to get what they wanted. That was the entire purpose of their department. “I have my uses, McTaggert. An Alpha-level metallokinetic? You want to raise submarines, ships, lift them all the fuck out of the water? Need an entire bridge moved, something constructed or built? A plane pulled out of the sky and safely landed, with no damage? I can do it. I can give you information, I can render services, someone with my background is completely invaluable to you in more than one way. Keeping me happy, making a deal, is in the best interest of everyone.”

“Erik.” Charles turned him to face him quickly, blue eyes widening, and caught his shoulders. “Love,” he said, almost whispering the term of endearment, and Erik’s fury stuttered for a brief moment at the sound of Charles saying it aloud. “Love, you’re giving up too much, you can’t sell your soul for something like this. I’ll probably be _fine.”_

Erik fully ignored his protests aloud, turning his head to look back at the agents, but rested a hand on Charles’ arm. _You’re worth whatever toll there is to pay. It’s nothing to do this shit, so stop arguing with me._ “Charles isn’t a threat. He’s never been a threat. He’s been this strong for most of his life and the only time he used it in a way that was less than ideal was when the children he has loved for a year and a half were abducted in front of him and his partner was brutalized by the police _after_ he himself was shot. So don’t tell me you all would have reacted logically.”

Summers cast a brief glance at his partner, then pushed his hands into his pockets. “We’ll call the chief and see what he thinks,” he said finally. “You two stay here and we’ll come back in when we have an answer. I shouldn’t have to tell you not to run.”

“Yes, thank you.” Charles gave them a small nod and all but dragged Erik into the other room, shutting the door hard behind them. “What are you doing?” He stared up at him. “Erik, you can’t just go back on everything you’ve built and believed in for all of this time just because they’re going to arrest me! Just because I told you that I’m- I’m in love with you, it doesn’t mean you have to do anything, it doesn’t mean you have to feel it back or work to- to- I don’t know, _earn_ it or make up for it or something!”

Erik frowned at him hard. “If offering to adjust my violent ideologies and finding a better way, to show our children that we don’t have to hurt or be hurt to survive isn’t-”

“Yes, they’re violent, but they’re _yours,”_

_Charles persisted, meeting his eyes fiercely. “I don’t have to agree with them to know that you believe in them, to know that you think it’s the best way to protect our kind and your family. It doesn’t matter if I personally think they’re mad, they’re _your_ beliefs and you shouldn’t capitulate them for me like this! I’m just me, Erik, and it’s just an arrest.”_

__

“You’re not just you.” Erik kissed him, running a hand through his hair. He would never understand how Charles had such a low idea of himself. “And I’m not changing my beliefs. I still believe mutants are superior and humans don’t deserve all the same rights. I’m just changing how I go about said beliefs. I’m also offering to help them do construction or demolition with my powers, which is actually fun. I could destroy shit and _not_ get arrested.”

__

Charles hesitated, opening his mouth, then took a deep breath and nodded. He opened the door to the living room again and they found that the agents and Moira had gone outside. Charles took a deep breath to speak, but was redirected by Wanda’s happy, ‘Papa!’ from the staircase. He looked around for her, then yelped, taking the stairs two at a time. Erik looked around quickly to see Charles snatch Pietro out of the air, his sister having been in the process of levitating him down the stairs.

__

“Children,” Erik chastised, lifting Wanda. “Don’t make your papa run up the stairs like that, the old man pulled a muscle.” He smiled over Wanda's head, kissing her hair. _Giving up the names of violent offenders, renouncing my terrorist roots, and offering to help lift heavy shit isn’t giving up much, Charles. Not when I get you and them into the bargain._

__

And Charles, it seemed, didn’t have any protest left for that point, and conceded quietly. 

__

When the agents and Moira came back in, they agreed to the deal and spent an hour with Erik going over names and details to begin with while Charles made the kids hot chocolate and taught Pietro how he could still do other things quickly (namely, juggling at a nearly frightening speed). 

__

Finally they left, and the kids were halfway through their movie when they noticed that Charles was all but laying on Erik. The twins looked altogether too pleased at that, and began whispering fervently under the blanket-fort they had built for the show. Charles laughed, taking the moment of distraction to tilt his head back and kiss Erik, and Erik found himself wondering if life really could end up being this wonderful.

__

* * *

__

* * *

__

And he kept wondering if life could be this wonderful, in a thousand moments big and small.

__

He kept wondering as he sat in on Charles’ lectures and attended research sessions with Hank, just to watch Charles light up and become overly involved in his work. He wondered as he and Charles laid together, basking in their afterglow, and he finally murmured _I love you, Charles_ against his telepath’s ear. He kept wondering as they did, in fact, continue going on dates that did, in fact, go perfectly, kept wondering as the investigation on Charles finally closed. 

__

He wondered as he watched Wanda and Charles fall asleep on the couch together on a rainy afternoon, wondered as Pietro got his cast off and ran between them incessantly in his delight, wondered as Charles presented them with Hanukkah gifts and traditions to celebrate that Erik had not celebrated in years. He wondered as he observed his children light the menorah and play with their dreidels as Charles watched, bemused and contented, curled up against Erik’s side.

__

He wondered if life could actually be this wonderful on their wedding day, when he slid the ring the kids had once stolen onto his new husband’s finger. He wondered what he had done to deserve this, how this possibly could be _his_ life, as he watched Charles dance with Pietro and Wanda at the reception.

__

He wondered how he had earned this family as the twins clambered into their bed on weekend mornings to pester them into waking up and playing with them. He wondered how it could be so simple as the twins presented them both with clumsy and perfect handmade gifts for Father’s Day. He wondered how things could have worked out so perfectly as the judge finalized the adoption processes, the twins officially belonging to both him and Charles.

__

He wasn’t sure what he had done to earn such a happy life, suddenly and intentionally infused with so much love and joy. Charles seemed determined to make up for the past ten stressful years of Erik’s life, filling his present with nearly more warmth and acceptance than Erik could tolerate. When Erik got into a bad mood and growled or snapped, Charles would argue with him, laugh it off, or soundly shut him up with a kiss. He wasn’t sure if this kind of joy was sustainable, if he really and truly could have this mundane, contented, fulfilling life with no cause to crusade and no battles to win. 

__

It took years for Erik to fully comprehend and accept that yes, he truly _had_ gotten this lucky.

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Wow, guys. I really and honestly can't believe that this is the end. _Playing House_ was definitely not our longest work (looking at you, the monstrosity that is the _Lifetimes_ series) but I think that it was the work that was the most loved. Thank you to everyone who subscribed and read and commented and gave kudos- it means so, so much. 
> 
> BUT. It feels weird to be ending this piece and this journey in their lives. A lot of you in the comments have said that a particular soft moment or funny one brightened your day or made a bad week a little more bearable. I think that's important. I like the community we've built up here and the way we all can connect over this. So. Clarke and I are considering adding a second 'work' to the series- just a collection of snippets and one-shot scenes of Charles and Erik's life together as they raise the kids and try to carve out a life together. It may end up being an actual second book, or just the collection we have planned now. If this happens, we'll post a 'chapter' here on this work to let everyone who's subscribed know that it's up.  
> BUT (again), we don't want to do it on our own. If there's a scene or a moment that you want to see in their lives, let us know in the comments! Anything you want to see or think would be cool or funny, let us know. Any questions you have for us, let us know! We're more than willing to continue, but we want your feedback and fuel!
> 
> So. If you want more, tell us. If you have something you'd like to see, tell us. If you liked this, comment and kudo. And most of all, thank you for being here with us. It meant and means the world.


	15. A Very Wedding Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A year after the events of the book, we get a super tiny glimpse of the Xavier wedding!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovelies! This chapter really only exists to let you all know that the next 'work' in this world is now out, in which we'll be posting scenes and snapshots of this adorable-ass family's life. Just telling you all didn't seem reasonable, so we drew up a tiny little fan service from Moira.

“Pretty,” Moira mused, turning her head to examine the library. It was large and old, with paintings that adorned the ceiling. There were arched alcoves set into the roof that also held painted figures and scenes, and it was almost impossible for Moira to tear her eyes away and look _down,_ away from the beautiful artwork and to the library itself. The walls were covered in bookcases. There were a full three floors of just bookcases stacked on top of each other, with only a small walking space and metal bars keeping those therein from walking straight into the hall that was the center of the room. 

_Morgan Library and Museum,_ the plaque on the wall announced, along with some various details. The collection of books had started in 1890, the building had finished construction in 1906, there were a number of rare materials collected there… Moira stopped skimming, amused. Trust Charles to get married in some ridiculously-expensive and antique library. She wasn’t even sure what else she should have expected.

“Ten bucks this was Xavier’s idea,” Logan grumbled, coming up behind her.

“You have a gambling problem and we all know that this was Charles’ venue,” she noted, grinning as she turned to him. “Erik probably would have picked some sort of- oh my _god,_ look at you in a _suit._ It’s like seeing a bear stuffed into a tuxedo, I love it.” She reached out, patting his tie, and he looked up at the ceiling, clearly ignoring the gorgeous artwork there.

“I hate every single thing about this,” he growled. “Why not outside? Casual wear? Not in this pretentious-ass place.” He shifted on his feet. “If someone tries to hug me, I’m going to have a problem, McTaggert. Keep the happiness over there.” He waved a hand. “I need a smoke so badly.”

She popped open her clutch, pulling out the pack of Nicotine gum there and holding out a stick. “Hush. It’s a _wedding,_ and you’re over a year smoke-free. A wedding is not going to be what drives you over the edge.”

“It’s not the wedding, it’s the suit.” He took three pieces of gum and popped them in his mouth. “The only thing that’s going to get me through is knowing Lensherr will be just as uncomfortable in a suit as I am.” He paused, then grinned. “And probably Xavier will be too, come to that. Dumb bastards.”

“Oh, you think Charles won’t come walking out that door in a sweater.” Moira rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t put it past- _oh my goodness!”_ She dropped to a crouch as Wanda ran in, curls bouncing. “Look at you!” She caught her shoulders, beaming at the seven year-old.

Wanda was in a red dress, of course, as she had yet to grow out of that phase. It was a fluffy rose-colored ballgown that poofed and flounced with every movement she made. Her hair was half-pinned back, a few small rose blooms pinned into the back of her half-updo. She beamed up at Moira, cheeks flushed pink with excitement.

“Hi! You look so pretty.” Wanda beamed at Moira’s dress, reaching out to pat the blue fabric.

“Thank you. You look _beautiful.”_ Moira smoothed a hand over her hair. “Are you excited that your daddies are going to be married?”

“Yeah.” The little girl nearly glowed with contentment and more than a dash of smugness, twirling her bracelet around her wrist.

“Where’s your-” Moira’s half-finished question was answered as Pietro blurred into place beside them, his white hair spiked up, a grey suit wrapped around him. Moira muffled a squeal behind her hand, reaching out to fix Pietro’s green tie. “You look _so_ cute,” she informed Pietro, fighting the urge to scoop them both forward and squeeze them.

Pietro grinned at her. “Thanks,” he said, wiggling. “We’re gonna walk with Daddy and Papa. Daddy said they might get nervous.”

More like Erik knew that if they had children with them, no one would be looking at _him,_ Moira thought in amusement. Erik Lensherr was not above using his children to shamelessly distract from himself.

“Is your daddy in a suit?” Logan asked, narrowing his eyes. Pietro blinked, then laughed.

“ _No.”_ He elbowed Wanda, exchanging a look with her as if it were a dumb question, and Logan’s eyes narrowed further.

“Is your _papa_ in a suit?”

Wanda giggled. “No!”

“I’m going to kill him.” Logan looked skyward again, chewing his gum faster. “Lensherr said everyone would be in suits. Every single person. That’s why I had to wear one, he said.”

Pietro zipped around them. “ _I’m_ in a suit,” he said helpfully.

“I _had_ a suit,” Wanda volunteered happily. “And Papa said I could pick but _look.”_ She twirled, the dress fanning out around her. Moira cooed, resting her chin in her hand, and Wanda practically preened.

“I’m very happy for you both,” Moira informed them, standing, and Wanda looked around as if someone had called her name.

“Papa wants us,” she told Pietro, wrapping her arms around his neck from behind, and they blurred off toward one of the doors.

The wedding was soft and simple. Erik was in a button-up rolled up to his elbows and a suit vest with dress pants, and Pietro zoomed up the aisle and back several times while Wanda happily bounced along, holding Erik’s hand. Erik glanced at the crowd and grinned widely when he saw Logan, who flipped him off. Moira pushed his hand down, stifling a giggle. Charles, when he followed after, was in a soft-looking pale grey turtleneck sweater with a thick, woven pattern. He crouched and kissed Wanda and Pietro’s cheeks before standing to take Erik’s hands beneath the _chuppah_ that they’d set up in front of the fireplace. The officiant was a rabbi from the synagogue they’d apparently been attending throughout the past year, and the kids clearly had _far_ too much fun with helping their parents step on (and smash) the glass. The vows were simple, indicative of the private people that they were but lovely all the same.

The reception took place in one of the adjoining museum rooms, and Moira bullied Logan into a dance. He had at that point removed his tie and jacket, and he looked surprisingly good; grumpy and rumpled in just his button-up and suspenders. She left her arms around his neck, watching Charles dance with Pietro and Erik twirl with Wanda.

“Admit it,” she sighed cheerfully, “I was right. What was it you owed me? Two hundred and a trip to Philly?”

“Moira, bullshit. You accused Charles of forcing this to happen,” Logan protested, staring down at her.

“Because it was my _job,_ not because I really and fully thought he did.” Moira rolled her eyes, watching the ridiculously sweet smile that Charles was sharing with Erik over Pietro’s head. They were in knee-deep, over-the-moon, fairytale love, and it was almost nauseating to look at. “I called from the first check-in that they were gonna get married. Two Benjamins and a trip to Philly, Howlett.”

Logan watched, annoyed, as Erik scooped Wanda up and moved to kiss Charles, resting his head against the shorter man’s when they broke apart with a ridiculously warm and happy smile, and Logan made a noise of mild disgust. “I really thought your little camping trip idea was going to backfire. You know, sometimes I think that you’re really some kind of secret mutant with probability powers. They almost killed each other the first time they met and now they’re married. God. And now we’ve got to watch them be in love and I have to know you set it up.”

“Just imagine how much faster it could have gone if you’d let me send only the one sleeping bag.” She grinned, feeling both proud and smug at her success and Logan’s failure. Plus, an impending trip to Philly on Logan Howlett’s dollar? Yes, please.

“No, _that_ was cheating and you know it,” Logan disagreed. “One sleeping bag was too much in your favor. I stand by my decision. And you’re going to have to wait until Friday when we get paid.”

“You think I’m going to wait,” she scoffed, watching the newlyweds. “Did you know that the kids _stole_ Charles’ wedding ring? Erik had to go and pay the shop. If they grow up and take after their father on the whole questionable-morality spectrum, we’re in for a world of hurt.”

“They’re how old?” Logan squinted. “Seven? Yeah, remind me in eleven years to retire. I’m too old for this shit.” He glanced at the men and gave a small smile as Erik twirled the little family. “Eh. You did alright. They do seem fairly happy. Nauseating, but happy. I guess you earned a vacation this one time. Next time you’re going to have to deliver children before I pony up.”

“You never know.” She winked at him. “Maybe they’ll give the twins a younger sibling. Watch what you bet, Sarge. I’ll take midwife classes or something.” Her attention was caught by Raven Darkholme, fluttering from pale skin into blue with the usual rippling motion, her grey dress suiting either color equally before she swung in and scooped Pietro out of Erik’s arms. The MAD agent had kicked up quite a fuss about the Shaw situation (and the her-brother-is-dating-an-ex-terrorist situation) when she’d gotten back into town, but things seemed settled now. 

Moira liked Raven. She made a mental note to meet up with her for coffee.

Moira could see other guests from here. Students of Charles’ mixed through the crowd, including Scott and Jean, the latter of whom was making smiling and pointed (yet theoretically joking) remarks about how _nice_ it was to be at a wedding. Ororo, the kids’ teacher from the year before, was laughing with red-skinned Azazel over by the bar, a younger girl with dark hair and a Russian accent arguing with them. Hank McCoy was talking very seriously to Bruce Banner and Tony Stark, throwing up his hands as they pointed importantly at a tablet that had been set up between the three of them. Had Stark seriously brought tech and work to a _wedding?_ A curly-haired brunette teenager appeared in their midst while Moira watched, bracing a hand on Tony’s arm and saying something merrily that had Hank laughing.

The sense of happiness was pervasive and so strong that Moira couldn’t quite identify if it was her own or Charles’. She suspected the latter, maybe even strengthened by Jean’s happiness, both projecting enough to wash the room with humor and a bone-deep joy that felt as warm as a towel fresh out of the dryer. 

“Funny how it all worked out,” Moira mused, unable to keep from smiling under the onslaught of delight and smiles around her. She rested her head on Logan’s shoulder. “You’re buying us pizza tonight,” she informed him, and laughed as he began to argue, watching Charles and Erik start to dance by themselves.

Knee-deep, over-the-moon, fairytale love, she confirmed. And they did deserve it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading! Feel free to pop over to the next work if you want to keep up with the goings-on in this universe! If you have any prompts, scenes, or moments you'd like to see, toss them in the comments over there!
> 
> Thank you for sticking by our side all this time. I hope this tiny scene was fun for you guys! Comments and feedback are loved beyond measure!


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